


Congested

by royal_blue43



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Angst, Awkward Romance, BDSM Scene, Bondage, Common Cold, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fetish, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Scent Kink, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Sneezing, Tie Me Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21926881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_blue43/pseuds/royal_blue43
Summary: Bulma can't seem to shake a cold brought on by her demanding work schedule. A special "remedy" may unblock more inside of the scientist's congested head than expected -- especially around her curious Saiyan house guest.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 45
Kudos: 125





	1. Bless Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Normally I don't write forwards, but since this is my first stab at a fetish story I felt it might be good to have. Many people end up in unconventional intimate relationships. That's what I'm exploring here with Vegebul and their personal ties with others. If you continue reading, thank you. If you don't, I appreciate that you gave it chance!

Bulma dashed like a madwoman past a pack of gossiping Capsule Corporation employees to her state-of-the art research lab. They respected her but largely stayed out of her way when she acted like this. She was brilliant, like her father, but far more demanding in her expectations for herself and anyone else working with her. Her words could be sharp, but she also cared for people in other generous ways.  
  
For weeks, her nights and days were filled with nothing but work. She kept it that way, rotating research assistants often to make sure no one burned out because of her rigorous expectations. She didn't worry about herself though, preferring to override intrusive thoughts about the inevitable downfall of her love life.  
  
Her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend Yamcha didn’t understand the importance of her efforts. She wasn't recrafting these machines purely for ego -- or to gain romantic favor from her current house guest, as Yamcha suspected every time Vegeta's name came up.  
  
No way. Not _that_ guy. Definitely _not_ Vegeta.  
  
Yamcha's whining pissed Bulma off royally, considering that he could barely keep his eyes off other women's breast cleavage these days.   
  
For her, the churlish Saiyan prince was nothing more than an extended experiment -- and someone to keep watch over, given his past behavior. Vegeta knew it too, which didn't bother him one iota. Bulma's intelligence and hard labor had been useful, and the shelter her family offered turned out to be a suitable setting to consider his plans for the future. Staying on Earth didn’t fit into those arrangements, but only after he ascended to Super Saiyan.  
  
When neither were brooding about issues they couldn't fix immediately, the two also entertained themselves sometimes by annoying the hell out of each other. But Bulma had purposely been unavailable, leaving Vegeta largely to his own devices. He had everything he needed for now, including her mother Panchy, whom he tolerated because of the woman's superb cooking skills. After years of consuming all manner of questionable meats and offal while traveling as a soldier, eating this well almost felt dangerous -- as if Panchy had other plans in mind for him. Although she appeared to be a faithful wife, Vegeta often caught her eyeballing his thighs and ass like they were chocolate Bundt cakes. That alarmed him, but he had enough self-possession not to show it.   
  
Bulma had been under the weather for a while. A nagging autumn cold sneaked up on her, starting with a scorching sore throat that woke her late one night. Instead of returning home, she had been sleeping at Capsule Corporation headquarters in a guest suite for three weeks straight. She refused to be completely miserable, but her patience with the all-consuming head congestion was nearly gone. She also stubbornly refused to take more medicine that wasn't solving the problem anyway. She also couldn't risk making stupid mistakes because of a foggy mind.  
  
She pulled an enormous box of tissues next to her with a monkey wrench, sniffling and talking to herself through it all.   
  
"This scourge will not conquer me!"   
  
A red light beamed above the lab's front door. Bulma wiped her nose and sighed, realizing that an uninvited visitor was hovering outside. Why give assistants instructions not to disturb her if they didn't follow them? She was covered in machine lubricant and grime -- and sick!  
  
"Please let me in, Bulma," a soft voice requested. "It's Launch."  
  
Bulma's creeper cart squeaked as she slowly pushed herself from underneath the machinery. Her hand slammed down on a button, opening the entrance. Launch skipped into the lab dressed in a yellow miniskirt, black leggings, and platform heels. She giggled at Bulma's untidy appearance, twirling her bouncy blue curls.  
  
Feeling vengeful, Bulma picked up a sports air horn, almost knocking her friend down with the noise. Then she pointed at the wall. "Don't come near me until you put on a face mask. This place is dusty. I don't need your _other side_ showing up around here."  
  
Stung by the barb, Launch pouted. "Don't use that against me, Bulma. My personalities are integrated now."  
  
"I've known you since I was sixteen years old, Launch. You had a mild allergic reaction to feathers. That blonde-badass alternate personality that showed up every time you sneezed was an excuse to be more assertive when others pissed you off."  
  
"You mean to be more assertive like you?" Launch asked, huffing at Bulma's bluntness. " _Right_. Well then, since I'm unwelcome here, maybe I'll just leave. I brought a gift to thank you for my silk nightgown. It was a great birthday present, and Tien Shinhan loved seeing it on me."  
  
"Did he now?" Bulma removed her workman's cap. "Very, _very_ good. Your thanks is enough. So I take it you got some sexy bedtime action?"  
  
Launch giggled again. "We can chat about that later. Panchy says you've been locked up in here and working too much, and that you've been fighting a bad cold."  
  
"I'm not _fighting_ anything," Bulma said, blowing her nose. "This viral nuisance will leave my drop-dead-gorgeous body soon, I'm sure."  
  
"So that's why you sound like a dying duck?" Launch asked with grin. She took Bulma's palm, placing a silver-colored vial into it. "Your congestion is terrible."  
  
Confused, Bulma looked up. "What is this?"  
  
"It's a remedy." Launch's eyelashes fluttered innocently, telling Bulma that trouble was imminent. "It also has other…benefits."  
  
Bulma unscrewed the cap, unleashing a spicy aroma that even she could smell through her blocked nasal passages. Launch placed her thumb over the top before the scientist took a stronger whiff.  
  
"Don't do that yet," she warned. "You should go home first, Bulma. Shower and rest."  
  
Bulma's eyes narrowed as she closed the vial. "Just what the hell are you up to, girlie?"  
  
Launch's tongue slid across her teeth like a lioness. "So how's Vegeta?"   
  
"Don't even go there with me," Bulma said. "Why are you asking about him?"  
  
"Wow, that guy really has gotten under your skin." Launch slinked behind her friend, poking the back of her head. "I'm surprised you haven't flipped that tasty-looking pancake yet. Your mom would have tried by now -- if she were single."  
  
Bulma almost gagged. "Mention that awful scenario to me again and you'll be eating this monkey-wrench I'm holding. Vegeta and I steer clear of each other for the most part, unless we're consulting each other on a project."  
  
"Don't lie to me! Your mom says you two are chatting more often, usually at night in the kitchen."  
  
"I oblige sometimes." Bulma realized she and Panchy were overdue for an angry chat about privacy. "That's it, Launch. So tell me what is this cold-relieving, mood-enhancing drug you're being so cryptic about?"  
  
"It's not a drug," Launch said, flipping her hair. "Sniff a small amount after you shower. It will relieve the congestion and provide deep relaxation."  
  
"Deep relaxation?" Bulma laughed. "I can do yoga to get that result. Sounds like you're trying to get me high. You know I can't do that. I'm too busy."  
  
"This is healthier than drinking," Launch said, sounding mildly offended. "Your appearance tells me that you haven't been pleasuring your body enough lately either, like all women should. Embrace your inner goddess -- and dump Yamcha."  
  
Smiling, Bulma shook her head. Was she the only sane person left among her friends?  
  
Yes. Yes, she was.   
  
"So you're saying I will be high as a kite, decongested and horny? Only one of those choices sounds attractive, considering how my clogged sinuses feel now. I've never heard of a nootropic like this. What is it called?"  
  
"Sternuta. Just trust me, Bulma. It's all natural and non-addictive. Tien and I can't get enough of each other when we use it. Hell, I can't get enough of _myself_ when he's not around."  
  
"We?" Bulma leaned back. " You got mister holier-than-thou Tien to agree to this? Am I hearing you correctly?"  
  
Launch nodded bashfully. "Yeah."  
  
"Two things." Bulma held up her fingers. "You're as nutty as a bowl of Muesli, and I'm going home."  
  
Launch jumped up and down, clapping. "That's wonderful -- the going home part, that is!"  
  
"Whatever," Bulma replied with an eye roll.   
  
Launch linked arms with her, making sure to push the vial into Bulma's side pocket. 

* * *

Vegeta's post-training stops at the Brief household's sauna room soothed his racing mind. It seemed to be the only place where that happened lately, now that Bulma had disappeared _on him_ indefinitely. Showing her mother obligatory respect didn't mean they needed to talk at length. The meddlesome woman had friends, and he _really_ wanted Panchy to make good use of them. Bulma's father, Dr. Brief, had vanished to some far-off locale, overseeing excavation of minerals for his daughter's top-secret project.  
  
Vegeta was used to being alone in many ways. He told himself often that he had what he needed, including two hands to satisfy cravings that backbreaking workouts couldn't. The change of seasons seemed to increase these urges. Sometimes he left windows open in his room to inhale damp earth and burning leaves. He laid naked in bed on these nights, rubbing the head of his dick, opening and closing his eyes languidly.  
  
The fragrant cedar and steamy heat inside of the sauna lured him into touching himself for a spell, but he stopped before coming anywhere near orgasm. He wrapped a long towel around his torso before searching for his sandals. That's when he heard women's voices coming in his direction. Both he recognized, though Bulma's sounded off-kilter. There was no other quick escape from this part of the house other than re-entering the sauna, which he would not do.   
  
"So be it," he muttered, accepting his fate. He would pass by them, offer a sliver of acknowledgement, and be on his way. He also made sure to strap his partially erect dick down under that towel like a newborn baby.   
  
Launch recognized him first, taking stock of each visible muscle group. She didn't ogle, though, but Vegeta knew what she was doing. For some reason he felt highly uncomfortable and offended by this strange woman's brazenness in front of Bulma. Normally he wouldn't have cared.   
  
Launch waved daintily as his face flushed. "Hi there."   
  
"Launch."   
  
Bulma hid her glee behind a folded handkerchief. Vegeta almost appeared embarrassed. She didn't look like herself, he thought, even in those dirty work clothes. She usually appeared as her most natural self in that scruffy uniform, which he liked.  
  
However, he disliked the slight thrill he felt from finally seeing her again.  
  
"I have a cold, Vegeta."   
  
He stared blankly as she blew her nose. "I see."  
  
"You're real talkative tonight," Bulma replied, smiling. "Aren't you going to ask how I'm feeling?"  
  
Vegeta shrugged. "You just told me. Besides, you must not feel that ill, considering how long you've been at the lab."  
  
"Awww." Bulma batted her eyes. "Miss me?"  
  
Vegeta scowled as Launch giggled beside her. He hated that. Bulma didn't need any further encouragement to be cheeky with him.  
  
"One of you should move," he said, staring frigidly at Launch.  
  
Bulma moved aside instead, kicking his sandal for being so blatantly obvious about wanting her friend to leave. In truth, Vegeta just wanted Launch's eyes to stop searching for a dick bulge. Bulma's cheeks had a pinkish tint, almost like fresh roses -- definitely a side effect from the cold, he concluded. Weirdly, he also found this vulnerability of hers physically attractive, increasing his desire to get far, far away from these women. Something was off.  
  
"The sauna might help your nose," he told Bulma awkwardly. "Make use of it."  
  
"Uh, thanks."  
  
Vegeta looked like he wanted to crush a wall to escape. Bulma swung around, hitting her friend's arm as the man sprinted away.  
  
"He wants to fuck you until your toes curl like elbow pasta, Bulma!" Launch's chest bounced as she laughed. "Can't you see that?"   
  
"No, he doesn't!" Bulma said angrily. "He literally just _ran_ from us, all because you couldn't wait for his towel to drop. I certainly don't _want_ to fuck Vegeta either! I still have a boyfriend, remember?"  
  
"Oh, really? You and Yamcha haven't shared a bed for a while. He even talks to Tien more than to you. _I should know._ Now then, go take care of that cold with my gift. Your yummy housemate gave you good advice. There's another sauna in your bedroom, right?"  
  
Bulma glanced back, thinking about Vegeta's uneasiness. "I never use it."

* * *

Each piece of Bulma's clothing made a trail to her luxurious bathroom. She had removed the Sternuta from her pocket and found an extra note from Launch.  
  
"This woman." She sat in front of vanity shelf, covering her face. "What am I going to do with her?"   
  
The note said: " _I have a fetish that I trust telling only you about -- and Tien, of course. I also have a feeling you might enjoy indulging in it on your own. If you find someone to share those good feelings with, even better. Many hugs, Launch."_  
  
A fetish? Bulma peered at the vial on the bathroom counter. This was crazy. All she needed was her warm bed and a strong desire to stay there. She picked up the vial again, carrying it into the bedroom.  
  
After sitting down, she poured a few dots of the soft brown powder into a stiff handkerchief, holding it up to her nostrils. Its pungency, reminiscent of rosemary and cinnamon, quickly provided an opening to inhale the substance. The sensation felt like a fifty-pound weight had been removed from her head.  
  
"Oh, thank heavens." Bulma stared woozily into a hand mirror, not noticing the glassiness in her eyes. "I can finally breathe. Launch is so full of shit. All of that garbage about aphrodisiacs and fetishes just to get me to take medicine and sleep in my own bed."  
  
Her nose now resembled a tiny pink carnation. She touched her chest, sniffling and rubbing her tickly nostrils. She sneezed into the handkerchief, blowing more of the residue everywhere until it hovered overhead like summertime pollen.  
  
The next explosion came faster, followed by two more bursts. Her nose flared as she inhaled deep within the hazy cloud, enjoying her lightheadeness. She sneezed harder, laying her hands on the bathroom door to laugh harder than she had in ages. Her naked body broke out in goosebumps as she stumbled toward the sauna.   
  
Bulma grasped a hand towel, burying her face into its softness as she entered the sauna. Billowy steam clouds curved and spiraled around her shoulders. Her hips swayed, following the vapor's gyrations. The unyielding tickle inside of her nostrils returned, joined by an even friendlier sensation _nowhere near_ her face or chest.  
  
"That sneaky little bitch." Bulma's breaths hitched until her eyes rolled back. "She must have… must have… known I would take too much of whatever this stuff is."  
  
She had not taken too much, actually, though it felt that way. Launch, in her single-minded absentmindedness, forgot to ask what kind of Bulma birth control used. Certain types of hormones increased the effects. Launch also deliberately omitted the mystery powder's apothecary: Fortuneteller Baba.  
  
Bulma probably would have run in the opposite direction had she known _that part_.  
  
Baba had a wicked sense of humor and dirtier mind than her younger brother, Master Roshi. The old witch just didn't discuss her "quirks" as freely. Launch, who did a good deed for her one day, had been slowly recovering from a cold. Baba concocted the remedy to thank her, explaining that "this gift would keep on giving."  
  
"You always have had a fetish," she crowed, shocking Launch into self-conscious silence. "Many people do, my dear, so _don't_ be ashamed. My voyeuristic fixation is figuring out who they are -- and what they like."   
  
Bulma felt a familiar tingle between her legs as she laid face-up on a bench. The mirror on the sauna's ceiling had been designed not to fog, offering a delicious view of her sweaty extremities. The scientist's gaze settled sluggishly on her heaving breasts and the inward curve her abdomen.  
  
"I guess… this is what being high feels like?" she moaned.  
  
But she refused to accept that theory.  
  
Maybe she was in denial. Why did she care so much? The results felt exquisite, thawing the tension from her bones. Fingertips moved toward her clit, extending like an eager pianist. She shivered as they circled the tip, pressing inward. Her thighs tightened as she sighed. The tide of erotic electricity coursing through her mound traveled up her spine. This provoked livelier stroking of her clit and swollen labia, but she wasn't ready to come yet. Her lips parted. She took a quick breath to regain control, slowing the pace of her touch, but the persistent itch within her nostrils only increased.   
  
"Oh, god." Bulma's back lifted partially, arching forward as she sneezed. She tried to stifle those that followed, continuing to pleasure herself down below. Her right arm desperately reached for a towel to cover her face. A strong inhale preceded a total loss of inhibition. Full-throated sneezes and sniffles shook her entire body until it convulsed uncontrollably with the kind of carnal delight that almost felt criminal.  
  
Bulma's mouth burst open with orgasmic laughter. She was just getting started. 

* * *

"Would you mind waking my daughter for breakfast, young man?!"  
  
Vegeta, who was wearing earbuds, pretended not to hear Panchy's screeching. The headphones were useful for preventing unsolicited conversation almost anywhere, he discovered, especially during his incognito trips through East City. He rarely played music.  
  
"Vegeeetaaa!" Panchy's arms waved like a wild goose. "Can you hear meeeee? I neeeed your help!"  
  
Vegeta's black-eyed glare could have burned down a forest. _Damn it. The woman needs to figure out what she wants. Bulma is home now. Case closed._  
  
He didn't understand Panchy's desire to coddle a grown woman -- who undoubtedly would be testy after being disturbed. He had absolutely no desire to be drawn into that looming disaster.  
  
"Bulma will arrive when she's ready," he replied, flying over Panchy's head. "I'm busy right now."  
  
"But…but she's sick." Disappointed, Panchy looked almost tearful. " _You_ are part of the reason why she's working so hard lately."  
  
"And your fake tears won't work _on me_ ," Vegeta said flatly. "Bulma appeared well enough before retiring last night. Her annoying friend seemed to be helping."  
  
Panchy's face turned purple from anger. "Look here, I need you to stop being an asshole for _one day_ to help me out! You shovel my healthy and very _expensive_ food into your arrogant mouth all hours of the day and night like you're dying from starvation! I select groceries _in person_ and have them delivered every week, and I have to leave now! This is the least you can do!"  
  
"How _dare_ you speak to me like this?!" Vegeta bellowed. "Have you forgotten that I was invited to stay here?"  
  
"How could I?!" Panchy said, stomping in a circle. "I sure as hell didn't offer it. Bulma did! You think I'm doing all of this work this for my health? Screw you, fella!"  
  
Vegeta threw his head back laughing. _Well, well. Her true personality finally comes out. Now I see where Bulma gets it._ "Maybe you should stop trying so hard."  
  
Panchy looked up, softening her tone. "Yeah, and maybe you should take your own advice sometime."  
  
Vegeta landed, watching the woman strut to her car like a runway model. He threw his towel over his shoulder, heading for the kitchen. From his perspective, Panchy didn't realize he was doing both her and Bulma a favor. He couldn't care less about either one being angry with him over it.  
  
Against his better judgment, he tried to detect Bulma's ki -- not the easiest task at the moment.  
  
"Of course. She's already there."  
  
Bulma's head was buried in the fridge when he entered the kitchen. Her perfectly round bum moved higher as she rummaged through the shelves. Vegeta lingered at the entrance, observing that body part a little too closely.  
  
"You and my mother really need to calm the fuck down," she said, sniffling through a shaggy mop of hair over her face. "You're both ridiculous. Also, thanks for not drinking the last drop of orange juice."  
  
"I would have, had you not beaten me to it just now," Vegeta said, approaching her.  
  
Bulma barely looked at him as she drifted from the refrigerator. "Yeah, I know."   
  
Vegeta took the handle, closing the door instead of searching for his own meal. He stepped in Bulma's path to get a clearer view of her condition. Her eyes appeared heavier, but he knew she hadn't been drinking. The alluring tint hadn't left her cheeks, and her nose was redder. She smelled of spice, too, which he also found oddly appealing.   
  
"Problem?" Bulma didn't move, delivering a penetrating gaze that somewhat startled him.   
  
Realizing that their bodies were too close, Vegeta blinked and backed up. "Are...are you all right?"   
  
"I'm fine." Bulma gulped her juice, turning to leave the kitchen. "Launch gave me a home remedy. I'll be one hundred percent better in no time."  
  
Vegeta returned to the fridge, accepting her apparent disinterest in further conversation. "Returning to bed?"   
  
"Yeah, I didn't sleep entirely through the night." Bulma glanced over her shoulder, greeted by a picture-perfect image of Vegeta's gym shorts as he stooped over. He didn't have a clue. Her nipples tingled, shaking her mind out of the previous night's haze.  
  
Her eyes shut.  
  
She needed to get back to work -- fast -- and away from the Saiyan prince.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed the start. If you find this piece interesting, please share with others or reblog. If you have thoughts about the plot and characters, leave a comment. As the note said, I'm kind of going wherever this story takes me. Thanks!**


	2. Just This One Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from last chapter: Bulma's friend Launch delivers a remedy for her cold, setting off an unexpected erotic exploration. Bulma and Vegeta have a strange and uncomfortable encounter the morning after, leaving them both a bit perplexed.

Launch wasted no time. The screen phone rang in Bulma's office within five minutes of the scientist's arrival. As always, she greeted her friend with a gentle smile that only a devil could conjure.  
  
"How goes it?"  
  
"How goes it, she asks, like she's planting a garden or something. Amazing." Bulma searched her hair for the pencil holding it together. Then she chewed on it like a teething infant.  
  
Launch's nose wrinkled. "That is utterly disgusting, Bulma."  
  
Bulma pushed back from her desk, propping her legs on it. "I always brush my teeth afterward, and you need to check yourself before judging me about anything."  
  
"Do you like this color on my toes?" Launch, who was sprawled on a chaise, held her foot up to the video screen. "I painted them earlier. It's called 'Pop the Cherry.'"  
  
Bulma laughed, staring at her worn-out house slippers. "Are you for real? What is this, a master's class in porn-trolling me about my sex life?"  
  
No one would describe her as a modest woman -- ever -- and yet Bulma had felt more inadequate and insecure lately. She couldn't blame Yamcha for everything she felt, although it would have been easy to. He had good reason to be suspicious of Vegeta, she knew. All of her friends did, but Bulma had been brave enough to reach out to the man in kindness to protect everyone else's well-being -- and her gamble fucking worked!  
  
She wasn't crazy. She felt tired of being taken for granted. Despite Launch's idiosyncrasies, Bulma knew her friend was correct: She needed to take better care of herself and have more fun with the methods.   
  
"You sound much better." Launch's relaxed eyes took stock of Bulma's positioning, cheeks, and that oh-so-attractive birthmark at the center of her collarbone. "So… you enjoyed yourself last night?"  
  
Bulma touched her neck dimple, a silent and uncomfortable answer to Launch's question. "Look, girlie, I had some time to think earlier. I really appreciate where you're coming from and what you're doing. I'm unsure if the cold is fully gone, but it will be. The rest --"  
  
"Oh, cut the c-r-a-p, Bulma!" Launch tooted. "Was that feeling good to you or not?!"  
  
Bulma stood up, seizing her tissue box. Suddenly, her nose felt blocked up again. Maybe this illness was becoming psychosomatic.  
  
"Of course it was!" she stammered through a nose blow. "But I feel like you're getting more from this knowledge than just happiness for my _inner goddess_. It's your _fetish_. You want to get your kink fix by hearing me discuss what happened. That's exploitative!"  
  
"I suppose you could call it exploitative." Launch cocked her head. "I don't really believe that though. Actually, _so what_? You just learned that it's _your fetish_ too. So yes, you just passed a master class. You also don't have to touch a soul if you don't want to. Sneezing is all around you!"  
  
"That's… that's… just wrong!"  
  
"Why, Bulma? Because we both had a little fun together in bed all those years ago? You think I'm trying to lure you back for a threesome this time?"  
  
"Oh my god." Bulma retied her wool cardigan and reached to turn off the screen. Sharing a bed with Tien was an unpleasant thought. "OK, chat over. You're out of bounds."  
  
"I am not," Launch protested. "Don't tell me you didn't imagine how it would feel to be like that with Vegeta -- or watch him lose control with you. He's as lonely as you are."  
  
Bulma had no rejoinder. "Just stop, OK? We've already covered that ground, and Vegeta isn't as lonely as you think. You also barely know him. That aside, if you keep stomping on my personal boundaries regarding that subject, then we shouldn't talk for a while."  
  
What Launch didn't know about Vegeta wouldn't hurt her either, Bulma thought. She would likely have a less-than-gracious opinion if the truth were out. Tien Shinhan disliked Vegeta immensely, but even he accepted the uneasy truce and code of silence among his core group of friends who had seen a different side. Tien also had a trunk full of personal skeletons.  
  
Launch sighed, folding her hands over her slightly exposed inner thighs. "I'm sorry. I know you've felt babied or not taken as seriously by others. I wasn't trying to do that."  
  
"Apology accepted." Bulma didn't know why she felt like crying. She wouldn't, though. "I have to go now. Being in bed most of the day has wrecked my schedule."  
  
Launch frowned, waving her hand. "Oh, don't _tell me_ you're returning to headquarters. Do you see the time? You might as well stay home and read a book."  
  
"Actually, I am." Bulma picked up the text, waving it. "It's work-related. Bye."  
  
Launch lifted a finger, touching her bottom lip. "One more thing, girlie -- a favor to ask."  
  
"Now what?" Annoyed, Bulma dropped the book on her desk. "I'm taking care of myself, like you said."  
  
Launch held up another vial of Sternuta, dipping a long fingernail inside to sniff. "May I watch you next time?"  
  
Bulma's mouth fell wide open as the woman unfolded a handkerchief with her name on it, spread her legs wide in front of the screen, and sneezed repeatedly.  
  
She had no underwear on.

* * *

Wearing his earbuds, Vegeta made plans for a human-style run -- his version of a long walk. Having the brisk wind thrash against his face and legs felt superb. Yet he resisted becoming too comfortable on the planet he derisively called a "mudball." He hadn't been on Earth long, and he didn't yearn to switch off the ruthlessness deeply ingrained in his identity. He wouldn't be who he was if that part disappeared. He was sure of that.  
  
Goku's unknown whereabouts were never too far from Vegeta's mind. Bulma had to know that no matter what she did to occupy him, his culture demanded that the two Saiyans their resolve "differences" differently. But maybe his belief was tinged with a dose of bullshit. Almost everything negative that shaped Vegeta's past came from servitude in Frieza's empire.  
  
His sense of honor as a prince without an empire had been warped, though not in every way. Even he believed that some behavioral boundaries shouldn't be crossed. After his father's murder and genocide of their people, he also learned as a child that close emotional connections could be devastating and oftentimes deadly.  
  
Earth's people had it good -- were lucky even. But much like many civilizations, they always would exist on borrowed time as long as other cultures lived by the credo of "might makes right." He internalized this belief wholly because he lived on both sides of that equation.  
  
As a man, his ties with women were mostly transactional. When he had time, which wasn't much, sex could be quite pleasurable --or adequate enough to get his rocks off. He had no problem satisfying partners, obliging their demands for roughness, and some women gave as well as they got. Beyond that, pursuit of highly unique sexual encounters wasn't a huge priority.  
  
It had been a week since Bulma reappeared at the main house. Then, to everyone's chagrin, she resumed the same behavior that got her sick. Even her father -- whose work ethic equaled hers -- felt the need to step in and say something. They were partners in this effort.  
  
Vegeta was tired of having his demands set aside -- and he had many. He also felt convinced that this top-secret effort was less important than everyone else made it out to be, and probably another activity to make more money for the business instead. Panchy barely spoke with him since their row, but the food kept coming. She had her pride too. For his part, if Vegeta recognized a small need she had, like forgetting to feed animals in the family's zoo, he would do it quickly. There would be no direct apologies on either side.  
  
He smelled rain coming as his run continued. He understood Bulma's behavior. He engaged in it himself. Her avoidance of the outer world was rooted in a larger issue. He didn't want this to be a major concern, but he had talked himself into taking action.  
  
"She must free herself of this sentimental idiocy! She is smarter than this. _I need her to be focused._ Damn that idiot Yamcha for distracting her!"  
  
Each day learned more about her, Vegeta recognized how dangerous Bulma could be if she wanted. Trouble attracted her and no matter how scared, she found courage to confront that fear. If he were less focused on his needs, Vegeta knew the possibilities for cultivating that side of her personality were endless. Right now, he'd settle for half.  
  
He flew skyward as storm clouds gathered. First, food. Second, Yamcha. Third, Capsule Corporation.

* * *

Bulma held a half-empty wine glass close to her chest. Gray clouds floated over West City's skyline. Somehow, she found a way to see beauty in them, along with the rain that followed. She had also managed to pull herself away from work, choosing to spend one day in her suite at the office. Nothing special had been on her agenda, except for finally ending her relationship with Yamcha, which happened earlier that morning. No overwrought drama occurred. Both respectfully agreed that they had moved on already.  
  
She toasted her choice with one glass of white wine. Silent tears followed. Having another romantic relationship with anyone probably wouldn't happen for years, if at all, but she vowed not to close herself off completely. Launch's audaciousness, as crazy as it appeared, had been a wake-up call for Bulma. She had a right to redefine her identity and explore her innermost desires.  
  
But not with Vegeta. His personal austerity had merit -- and, yes, Bulma found that attractive in some ways. But it was clear that this could easily be his downfall. She hadn't invited that angry, enigmatic man into her family's home for jollies anyway.  
  
Panchy was having dinner sent over, according to a wall monitor. Bulma hadn't requested this meal, but she knew her mother did it because of Yamcha. She guzzled the rest of her wine after learning from security that Launch brought the food. Clearly her mother or Tien had delivered the news.  
  
_Damn it, mom. I do have other friends on this planet._ Bulma almost asked Launch to leave the food and go. Crying on her shoulder or anyone else's wasn't happening. She turned on the visual display, standing with her arms crossed.  
  
Launch nodded. "Hi, lady. I'm leaving the food here. I… don't have to come up."  
  
"Thanks -- and maybe learn to tell mother 'no' more often. She can pay someone to handle stuff like this."  
  
Launch fidgeted, placing the food on a counter. "How are you?"  
  
"I'm not OK, but I will be."   
  
"Glad to hear it. I'll be on my way now."  
  
Launch genuinely looked happy for her, which Bulma sensed. She sucked air through her teeth, fiddling with the door's access button. "I don't even know why I'm letting you in. You showed your ass with me last week, Launch. I mean, what was I supposed to do with that?"  
  
"Remember how to have fun. Doesn't have to be with me. I don't want a full-time relationship with you either."  
  
"I know." Bulma replied, buzzing her inside. "You also aren't my part-time sex therapist."  
  
After handing her the food at the entrance, Launch poured wine for herself. "Just one glass for me."  
  
Bulma shrugged, dipping a spoon into a bowl of cranberry sauce. "You can have however much you like. Doesn't matter to me. I'm not drinking any more."  
  
Launch took the spoon from her hand, licking it slowly. Bulma's eyes watched until she reclaimed the utensil for herself. Then she retreated to the picture window.  
  
"Just because Yamcha's out of the way --"  
  
"I know you're not vulnerable." Launch followed behind, placing a pewter box in Bulma's hand. "Tien and I are committed to each other, but we also have an open relationship. He doesn't question me."  
  
Bulma effortlessly guessed the box's contents. "Just this one time, OK?"  
  
"Fine." Launch touched Bulma's cheek, kissing her. "Are _you_ sure?"  
  
"Definitely." Bulma nodded, unlocking a neatly-organized cabinet of sex toys next to the suite's master bedroom. "Take your pick of restraint."  
  
Launch cracked up with laughter. "So this is where you hide everything? Why can't we just use the strap-on? You should save the other playthings for really special occasions."  
  
Bulma propped her leg against a wall, draping both arms over her friend's shoulders. Launch opened the pewter box beneath her nose, allowing Bulma ample time to inhale deeply, which she did. They both laughed as Bulma's upper body relaxed. Her nose and the whites of her eyes changed colors as she began to sneeze.  
  
"Hetshoo!!!"  
  
Then they came fast and hard.  
  
Launch quickly held Bulma's arms down to stop her from covering her face. "No. Talk to me first. I _want_ to see your expression."   
  
Bulma nodded. "I'm going...I'm going to sneeze again." Her head reeled as she felt Launch unzip her jeans. She could barely get another word out but tried. "Please….please..."  
  
Launch's pelvis pushed into her stomach, setting off a spasm that rocked them. Bulma's neck arced up as she panted and sniffled. Tears streamed down her face.   
  
"Very good." Launch released Bulma's arms to kiss and fondle her, leading her to the bed with their selection of restraints. "You look beautiful."  
  
Bulma smiled. How serious could they really be here? She had enough of her right mind left to comprehend how peculiar this situation might appear to others, but it felt great at the moment. Launch held Bulma's nostrils with each breathy buildup, watching the frequency of her stifled sneezes increase. When she let go, Bulma had her rapid-fire full release, hitching and gasping through each one.  
  
Her eyes started to close as her body gave way to Launch's clit stimulation. She moaned as the woman's fingers penetrated her further underneath. Launch licked her lips watching the tension, feeling milky wetness on her nails. She spread Bulma's arms apart, stretching the restraints from the bedposts to tie her down. Then she blindfolded her.  
  
"Stay with me," she said, sucking on Bulma's nipples. "More?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
After strapping on the harness and dildo, Launch held up Bulma's nose, sprinkling more powder directly inside. Bulma's bright-red nostrils spread wide as Launch quietly climbed on top for intercourse. Bulma's chest rolled forward each time she sneezed, further extending the penetration. Her legs clenched around Launch's hips with each exhalation.  
  
"I need to, ah… I need to sneeze…het-choo! Etch! Etch!"  
  
Launch thrust steadily for a long time, leaning forward to kiss her at intervals. Bulma's mind had entered a dreamscape that supplanted her current partner's presence for another. A serious smile rounded on her vision's fleshy lips, as if they were privy to a grand joke that only belonged to them. She felt the man tugging on her hair to get a rise, while her hand stroked his cock at the rough, stimulating pace that he preferred. All of it seemed right as their eyes and tongues connected. She felt her spine stiffen as his cock fully penetrated her to the point of no return. His grunts and sighs melded with her moans as his fingers moved from her back dimple to between both sides of her ass. Wetness soaked their legs and hands.

Launch watched these reactions with profound interest. She knew her friend was fantasizing about someone else. Then Bulma cried out, attempting to break the restraints as Launch's weighty thrusts jolted her mind between both worlds.  
  
"Oh, shit! Oh, god. Please don't stop. Please! Vegeta, please don't stop! Vegeta!"   
  
_Bingo!_

 _"_ Say… it… _again."_ Launch kept going as she played with Bulma's nose. She had hoped to get this reaction but didn't count on it happening. But oh boy, did it ever!  
  
"Oh, no." Bulma's eyelids fluttered as she laughed. "Ah..."  
  
"I heard what you said," Launch purred seductively in her ear. "It's OK. I don't mind. See, I told you so."  
  
A red dot blinked on a screen next to the bed, drawing Launch's attention. The sound from the main security area wasn't on in this room, which Bulma accidentally overlooked earlier.  
  
_Shit! He's here?!_ Launch couldn't believe her eyes, but the image told no lies -- and this time, Bulma was as high as a kite.   
  
  
  



	3. Not Easily Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from last chapter: Bulma indulges in her out-of-the-ordinary fetish as she lets go of situations that stop her from living her best life. Frustrated by what he believes might be holding Bulma back in other ways, Vegeta goes on a mission.

_Damn it. Of all the times, why is he here now?_  
  
Launch's mind filled with a string of curses. She had to think fast, because it was next to impossible to leave without facing Vegeta head-on. He wasn't the type who would easily believe that Bulma wouldn't allow him inside. He was also soaked from the rain.  
  
Meanwhile, Bulma lay there bound and blindfolded and on the edge of sleep. Launch, who had been unstrapping the harness, leaped to retrieve her pullover shirt and jeans. She would try to appear at ease, leaving her shoes off to show her intent to stay there.  
  
 _I'll let him inside_. Better to control the situation. Maybe she could use his discomfort with her against him. He might leave faster.   
  
After brushing her hair down, she ran out to use the intercom. "Hi, Vegeta. It's Launch. Bulma is asleep right now. Is it really important to come up now?"  
  
"I wouldn't be here if it weren't," he replied curtly. "Is there another problem? I suppose I could return later."  
  
Launch weighed her options. She had to gamble on this one. Although Vegeta didn't appear bothered, he was drenched. Perhaps the lack of hospitality would only make him more suspicious.  
  
"Um, not really. But you know, we women get a little comfortable for slumber parties without you guys around. I'm in lounge-wear and a headscarf. Let me get my shirt and jeans on to look presentable."   
  
Appearing displeased, Vegeta glanced at the security station's clock. "Slumber party?  
  
"Just having a good time." Launch laughed to steady her voice. "Bulma needs to relax. I'm sure you're aware."  
  
Vegeta didn't particularly care about Launch's appearance, as long as she wasn't naked and waiting to pounce on him. But then he considered his earlier encounter with Yamcha. Launch's big mouth would likely confirm the information he sought.  
  
"Fine." He folded his arms. "Do whatever you like to prepare. Shall I wait here, or would you be gracious enough buzz me upstairs so I can linger like a vagrant at the front door?"  
  
"Of course, Vegeta," Launch said patiently. "You know, I think you're interesting guy, but can you tone down the sarcasm? It's a buzzkill. I haven't done anything mean to you."  
  
"I'll agree to a truce." Vegeta glared at the guards, who immediately gave them privacy. "Stop gawping at my dick in front of Bulma so blatantly, and maybe I'll be more civil.  
  
 _Interesting._ Launch smiled. _So he only cares when Bulma is present? I'm sure plenty of women -- and men -- check out that amazing body often.  
  
_ "We have a deal," she replied, buzzing him in. "Give me about fifteen minutes."  
  
"Fine." Vegeta didn't understand why she needed so much time but conceded. Maybe the apartment was messy too. "Just summon me when ready."  
  
Launch unbound Bulma, covering her with a warm blanket. "Scratch Five, activate aromatherapy at level one for the entire suite. Use menthol in open areas and lavender in the master bedroom."  
  
"Function activated at first level," a computerized voice replied. The apartment smelled like an old-fashioned hospital almost immediately.  
  
"Everything OK?" Bulma asked drowsily.  
  
"Yeah." Launch brushed her hair back. "Go back to sleep. Maybe I went somewhat overboard. I'm…sorry."  
  
Earlier, Vegeta made good on seeing Yamcha. Killing and torture weren't options, unfortunately. That would get the prince kicked out of his temporary home. He wouldn't stay if asked to leave, of course. Bulma and her dad would still need him around anyway.  
  
He had some respect for Yamcha as a fighter, though he would rather eat a hammer than say so. As a human, Yamcha had substantial strength and impressive martial-arts skills, and had battled against honorably. For the most part, Vegeta at first appeared oblivious to the romantic drama between his hostess and her uncertain beau. Their disputes seemed idiotic and then became intolerable. He also recognized Yamcha's jealousy, not knowing what to make of it. Many women were mercurial, according to his thinking. Bulma wasn’t, which should have satisfied Yamcha. Doubting herself over that man was stupid, he thought.  
  
Yamcha and a pretty blonde-haired woman were chatting at a restaurant close to his new apartement. His ease dissolved after sensing an undesirable presence. He swiftly left the eatery to meet Vegeta in an alley.  
  
"How brave of you to join me." Vegeta's hands rubbed together. "Impressive."  
  
Yamcha leaned comfortably on a brick wall. There would be no fighting today. Vegeta wanted confirmation of his breakup with Bulma, obviously. Yamcha was unsure how to fuck with the prince's mind about her, but there had to be a way.   
  
He bowed halfway. "Praise be, Lord Vegeta! Thy god among mortals _has graced_ my presence. How may I, your humble servant, assist thee?"  
  
"Why are you wooing death by my hand, weakling?" Vegeta asked, snapping his knuckles.  
  
"Because, Vegeta, you're not here to kill me," Yamcha said confidently. "It doesn't align with your goals to rebuild your kingdom elsewhere in the galaxy, since you hate the planet that's _welcomed_ and _sheltered_ you so much."  
  
Vegeta's wolf-like grin emerged. "Your _feeble_ attempt to bait me won't work."  
  
"Oh, but something's aggravated you." Yamcha blew on his nails nonchalantly. "Rest assured, I doubt that I have whatever you're seeking."  
  
"Indeed you don't," Vegeta agreed, glancing at his shirt's Capsule Corporation logo, "and probably _never_ will."  
  
Yamcha's brows trembled. "Of all the things you could take, must it be her too? My god! It's all about you -- every single _fucking_ day since you arrived."  
  
"Of course it's all about me!" Vegeta said, clapping slowly. "I must say, you are an adequate actor, but I'm not easily fooled. You're a distraction. You say I'm self-centered, yet your behavior with the woman --"  
  
"Her _name_ is Bulma, asshole."  
  
"I know that!" Vegeta snapped. "Be real with yourself -- now -- because this sideshow cannot continue. You always will be at a disadvantage. My demands from her are simpler than yours, in my mind, because I'm not asking her to be someone she's not."  
  
"Maybe so," Yamcha sighed, "but don't fool yourself into thinking that your selfishness and the belief that you're a legend in your own mind will protect you."  
  
Vegeta frowned. "Protect me from what?"  
  
"Actually, don't mind me," Yamcha sneered. "I'm just a delusional, gullible weakling."  
  
Vegeta seized his neck, throwing him into the wall. "From _what_?"  
  
"From…yourself, Vegeta." Yamcha's eyes watered through gasps. "From yourself." He could have tried dodging the man's grasp, but the war of words between them had been won.  
  
Vegeta rested on his knees after dropping him. "Your misplaced jealousy is foolish. _Bulma_ sees me as a means to an end for her interests -- as much I do _with her_ for my own. Nothing more. Thus your standing in her way blocks _my path_. I can't have that."  
  
Yamcha stared Vegeta in the eye, chuckling. _He calls me a fool_. _I guess this fool will learn the hard way._ The prince was in denial over Bulma's influence, not him.  
  
"You don't have to worry about that anymore. Now if you don't mind, you prick, I don't want be caught in that storm coming up soon."

* * *

Launch handed Vegeta a towel at the door to dry himself as he entered. He moved aside, refusing it, although the room's menthol aroma almost knocked him on his ass. He had seen all manner of decomposing and charred creatures over the years, and scents like these were almost always used, undiluted, to cover putrid smells. He also knew humans used weaker versions of this compound in ointments to relieve illness symptoms.  
  
"I'm almost dry, and I don't expect to be here for an extended period." He glanced at the bedroom wondering if Bulma was sick again, but he didn't sense much out of order.  
  
"So what brings you?" Launch asked, walking to the kitchen island. She nudged an empty wine glass toward him, holding the half-empty bottle.  
  
Vegeta moved to the opposite end. "I don't drink much. You have spent the most time with Bulma lately, more than her parents even. Apparently she listens to you."  
  
Though his statements expressed concern, Vegeta appeared indifferent. Tien, who rarely discussed the man, told Launch that Vegeta was beyond selfish. Maybe he only stopped at Bulma's to make sure his meal ticket wouldn't drop dead. Launch's natural optimism, however, muted that thought.  
  
"Well, not _that much_ time," she replied. "Bulma is what she is. We've been friends since she was a teenager. I make myself available when she's able to do the same. Working is her highest priority these days. I doubt if that will change."  
  
"She's not _working_ efficiently."  
  
"Oh?" Launch downed more wine, watching him closely. "How would _you_ know? Where have you been peeking lately?"  
  
Vegeta turned his back, heading for the picture window. Lightening crackled in a faraway location outside of the city, attracting his interest.  
  
"Let me tell you something, Launch. Your intrusive attempts to analyze me _will fail_. What you see is exactly what you get. Your interest in my dealings with Bulma also goes beyond mere protectiveness. You are meddlesome, which doesn't serve her well. Furthermore, if I wanted to harm anyone, I'm more than capable of doing it _quite_ efficiently. Tien knows. Clearly he doesn't say much for valid reasons, so do us all a favor and _back off_."  
  
Vegeta didn't raise his voice. Most people would've been extremely offended by his coldness, but Launch only saw a deeply lonely and hurting man. Love and friendship surrounded Bulma, which had to be disconcerting for him. But Launch also accepted that Vegeta's push-back had some merit. Bulma had been right about him all along, perhaps.   
  
"Point taken," she replied. "You and Tien definitely have traits in common."  
  
"Wise observation." Vegeta's detachment retreated. Rules for engagement with her were now set. "Is Bulma ill again? Of course I don't believe that slumber party bullshit."  
  
"No. Just a long week. She really wanted to take a day off this time."  
  
Vegeta picked up a framed picture of Bulma and Yamcha, which had been face-down on an end table. He didn't care what Launch thought, now that his beliefs were confirmed.  
  
"Disciplined working differs from laboring to avoid difficult situations. Bulma has made promises to me. I expect them to be met. Whatever stands in the way must be dispatched immediately. I have fulfilled promises _I made_ to her and her father."   
  
Launch had grown tired of their tension, hoping that he would leave. "You would have a great future writing greeting cards."  
  
Vegeta avoided asking what those were. "Sounds dreadful. Just see to it later that Bulma is… aware of what I said."  
  
"I will." Launch didn't accompany him out. Expecting any kind of thanks was laughable.  
  
Vegeta touched the door knob, keeping his back to her. "I trust you won't leave anytime soon -- not until you fully clean whatever mess you're using that menthol to hide."  
  
"Yes, man," an exasperated Launch said. "I'll be here. You can leave now."  
  
Vegeta smirked as the door closed behind him.

* * *

"Honey, I'm so glad you've come to your senses -- and that you aren't devastated over Yamcha."  
  
Bulma regretted having a late breakfast. Panchy usually tended the animals at this hour but decided to join her. Bulma only craved her coffee's addictive bitterness, not meandering conversation.  
  
No response was the best one.  
  
Panchy laid a plate of spongy crumpets, complete with strawberry jam and clotted cream, next to her daughter's plate. "Are you ignoring me?"  
  
Bulma poured more coffee. "I'm thinking, mom, and right now I have nothing to say."  
  
"OK, I'll change the subject." Panchy gracefully placed a crumpet on her daugther's plate, smiling angelically. "So about your work schedule next week-"  
  
Bulma buried her face in her hands. "Mom, please!"  
  
"Just listen to me! Don't forget that I was an economics major in college. Seems to me that this concept called the law of diminishing returns shows that the benefits of what you're receiving at work are now less than what you're investing."  
  
"I'm going to live in a mud hut if I hear another lecture from anyone," Bulma grumbled. "Vegeta of all people actually had the nerve to offer his opinion two nights ago, at my apartment, and asked Launch to deliver the message? _Him?!_ "  
  
"Obviously he knows from personal experience, dear, don't you think?"  
  
"Of course he does," Bulma conceded. "That doesn't seem to stop him."  
  
"He can be an ass, but for someone who hasn't been here that long, he's definitely perceptive. In his own way, maybe he sees _better_ for you." Panchy grasped her daughter's hands. "You and your father are offering something now that he didn't have before to better himself. Hope does wonders for one's attitude."  
  
Bulma stood. "Oh stop it, mother. Vegeta will tell you that charity has never been -- nor will it ever be -- his main motivator. Believing anything otherwise is the worst mistake anyone could make. When people show _and_ tell you who they are, believe them."  
  
"She's right," a husky-voiced shadow said from behind. "You should listen to her more."  
  
Both women froze in place as Vegeta entered. He didn't appear insulted.  
  
Seeking to protect Bulma, Panchy began to speak. "I --"  
  
"Don't." Vegeta shook his head. "I think you know I'm not easily broken."   
  
Bulma observed his slouched posture. He usually stood as straight as a plank, especially during moments like these. The skin around his sockets looked grey. Vegeta averted his eyes to avoid further scrutiny. He cleared his throat, moving past to find a hot beverage.  
  
"Kind of early for your lunch," Bulma said. "You really busy today?"  
  
"Kind of late for your breakfast," Vegeta replied, ignoring the question. "When will I see the see the fruits of your labor?"  
  
Bulma smiled. "Will you be done training around five p.m.?"  
  
"I can take a break," Vegeta said, rubbing his neck.  
  
"So you got started late, I see." Bulma propped her elbow on the wall. "I hope you had fun doing whatever kept you from --."  
  
"See you at five," Vegeta interrupted tersely, departing with his mug. "I will be on time."  
  
Panchy and Bulma hurried to the video display in the kitchen to see if he was out of hearing distance. They held hands, laughing at their behavior.  
  
"You think something is wrong?" Bulma asked. "I doubt if he's upset by my comments."  
  
"Maybe." Panchy faced her. "It may sound odd, but I think he's not feeling well."  
  
"No, mom, that is _crazy_. Not only is that man built like a Tyrannosaurus, his body has been hurled into more stone than most wrecking balls. Using Goku and him as guides, we've already determined that Saiyans don't become ill often."  
  
"And I'm _a mother_ ," Panchy said. "Vegeta ate _nothing_. He never leaves my kitchen without a snack. Keep an eye on him this evening."  
  
"He makes it hard not to sometimes, mom."  
  
"Mostly when he's near you, dear, even when he's trying hard not to be seen."  
  
Bulma ran out the door. "Try not to antagonize us for a few days, please. I love you."  
  
Vegeta arrived at Capsule Corporation's main mechanics lab thirty minutes later than Bulma's stated time, knowing she would be late. He hadn't felt like flying, which was unusual, opting for an automatic car to bring him instead.  
  
Flood lights turned on, following his path. No reason to search for Bulma's ki. She was there... somewhere. He removed a capsule from his pocket containing a newer prototype of his battle armor.  
  
Bulma waved from a ladder that stretched to the ceiling. "Hey! You're late!"  
  
"Hn." A blank stare hid Vegeta's confusion. "Stop the drama and get on with it, Bulma."  
  
"Why don't you help me down first?!" she commanded. "This ladder is kind of tall."  
  
"Are you serious?!" Vegeta's eyes narrowed. "You got yourself up there knowing I would be here. You can get yourself down. Why is that ladder not automatic anyway?!"  
  
"Aw come on, Vegeta! Stop being so sour!" Bulma waved a little too vigorously, losing her footing on the ladder. Vegeta cut her frightened screaming short by catching her in his arms. Their lips brushed.   
  
"You are _wasting_ precious seconds of _my life_ ," he growled as they slowly descended to the floor. "Next time wear a jet suit, woman."  
  
"Thank you." Bulma touched his shoulder. "I'm really sorry." Her head tilted, noticing his pink, watery eyes -- and nose. His voice sounded raspier too.  
  
Vegeta stared down, feeling uncomfortable with her inspection of his features. When she was being kind, looking directly at her was difficult enough.  
  
" _Hn_. I doubt that. I need to get some water before we do whatever you have planned. Should I wear the suit?"  
  
Bulma's hands entered her pockets as she passed him. "Not yet."  
  
Vegeta brushed his face with the cool water bottle before following. A chamber door opened as they walked together. Gadgets fell from the ceiling, all pointing at him. His pleased smile was muted but still prominent enough for Bulma to feel triumphant.  
  
He swallowed, resisting a strong urge to cough. "Interesting."  
  
"Shall we go in?" Bulma peeped happily. "What the hell are you waiting for?"

Vegeta stood behind, inhaling two short breaths before leaning over. Unintentionally, his left hand grabbed Bulma's shoulder while he sneezed powerfully into his right. She gripped the chamber's entryway as he panted and sniffled.   
  
Vegeta looked mortified when his fit ultimately stopped. If Bulma were Saiyan, the chamber probably would've crumbled between her fingers. The thrill she felt after listening to him was insane -- and hot! What if he were near death instead? She almost felt ashamed, though not that much.   
  
"Uh, here." She whipped out a handkerchief. "Use this. Maybe we should return later."  
  
  



	4. I Didn't Think You Cared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from the previous chapter: Vegeta's body went into revolt as he prepared to further explore Bulma's newest mechanical masterpiece. Bulma watched in awe, feeling naughty... and conflicted.

Vegeta backed up, snatching Bulma's conveniently available handkerchief to cover his face. His cheeks felt hot, either from embarrassment or fever. He couldn't tell which, really. Watching Bulma try not to gawp -- especially as he prepared to demonstrate a much-anticipated show of strength -- peeved him even more.  
  
Bulma collected herself, both mentally and physically, to respond. Vegeta's immune system definitely had something nasty brewing. "Are you feeling --"  
  
"When was the last time you had this place thoroughly cleaned?" He asked the question dispassionately, though he felt anything but. "It appears to have an abundance of grime."  
  
He had to cut her off at the pass. No hesitation. He also couldn't keep the moistened handkerchief, but he certainly wouldn't return it to Bulma. But where the hell could it go? His eyes finally spotted a rubbish bin tucked underneath metal lab table.  
  
"Last time I checked, labs like _this one_ aren't meant be antiseptic, though it could quickly transform if I wanted it to." Bulma replied, shoving down her own aggravation. "By the way, you might still need that cloth, considering how you're sniffling now."  
  
Vegeta didn't realize how close he had come to overstepping -- even for him. Arguing about Bulma's work progress or production could be exciting. Her father and teachers pushed her hard early, after everyone discovered that she was a prodigy. Sloppily attacking the environment where she chose to create -- and she knew the difference -- was off limits.  
  
"I'm fine," Vegeta replied, finally realizing his mistake, "and I meant no insult. Hard work shows itself in different ways."  
  
"Yeah, like shattering expensive experimental tools to feed one's ego," Bulma muttered under her breath. She immediately shut down access to the room, surprising him.  
  
Bulma's showed varying degrees of chilliness when she was angry. Vegeta responded accordingly, based on _his_ communications need _s_ with her. He either ignored the drama and the source of it, or he stomped through the problem to clear the air so they could return to their respective "sides." But he felt uncomfortable with her distant response to his attempt to save face over something so trivial. Bulma had more barbs and brambles lurking within her personality -- not bravado -- for legitimate reasons than he grasped.  
  
Just like him.  
  
He also did the same thing he accused Yamcha and some of her friends of doing. He wouldn't be sloppy with her like this again. Keep the punches high, not below the belt.  
  
"Anger seems to have given you amnesia about my hearing." His throat felt scratchier, so he softened his voice. "There's no need to do that. If we weren't feeding our egos _together,_ and excited about possible results _together_ , that would ruin your fun."   
  
His _voice_. Holy mother of honeybees. Not only was Vegeta correct, but he said so in the sexiest way -- and he wasn't trying to be sexy, or maybe he was? Bulma's clothing hid her tingling nipples' hardness, to her relief. She swallowed. Her protests to everyone else about any attraction to Vegeta wouldn't be for naught!  
  
"True," she replied, "but now I think it's best to wait a few days before putting it to work. You asked to see it, and now you have. I need to do more fine-tuning."  
  
"No, you don't."  
  
"Excuse me?" Bulma put her hands on her hips. "You don't get to call the shots in _my_ queendom."  
  
"You’ve done enough _for now_ , Bulma." Vegeta said, sounding every bit like the commanding prince he indeed was. "You've proven that to everyone. Now turn on the lights and fire-up this contraption -- and step aside."  
  
He moved forward, smirked, and stripped down to his gym shorts faster than Bulma had ever seen _any_ man accomplish. Her sharp glare reflected admiration and vexation. She inhaled and lifted her chin, still deciding whether to refuse his command. A delicate fingernail tap on the machine's exterior returned it to life.  
  
Vegeta's eyebrow raised. "It has an advanced sleep mode?"  
  
Bulma sighed. "Why wouldn't it?" Vegeta wasn't faking stupidity, but his question sounded obtuse nonetheless. "I'm sure you recognized quickly how much power a _contraption_ such as this would require."  
  
"And?" Vegeta felt like his face and chest had been shoved into a scorching convection oven. He undressed, in part, to relieve his discomfort. Sniffling continued. He glanced at the lonely, disheveled handkerchief resting on the anti-vibration table nearby.  
  
His strength was intact, but this _other_ emerging problem bordered on the absurd. He had been beaten senseless and still managed to kick ass numerous times, and Saiyans rarely fell ill because of their genetic makeup. A nasty blood infection he contracted during a space mission had been the only sickness that nearly killed him. A talented alien doctor saved his life - and his septic, pus-ridden legs -- to spite Frieza's vicious, fawning adviser Zarbon -- whom they both hated.  
  
" _And_ , Vegeta, you'd be annoyingly enraged if my exquisite machine shut down when you need an extended toilet break," Bulma quipped. "It can function for up to two months without requiring full deactivation and rebooting, using a more efficient power source."   
  
Vegeta wasn't amused. His throat tickle gave way again to the dull soreness that felt like soot on his tonsils. This time, however, Bulma avoided staring so blatantly at his fitful nose twisting.  
  
It was happening again -- while he was half naked.  
  
"I usually…don't…need…" he mumbled through a hefty chest heave. "My toilet habits are…are none of your business!"  
  
His left finger aimed at the handkerchief, which reached his palm just in time. His shoulders tensed as sneezes blew out him like cannonballs.  
  
"Oh, god!" Bulma burst out laughing. "I actually think you've caught a cold -- a real cold! Maybe you caught mine!"  
  
"That's impossible!" Vegeta huffed, shaking off the spasm. "You said the incubation period for the ailment you had was three days for anyone exposed before symptoms appeared. Even if I were sick -- _which_ _I'm not_ \-- don't you think this would've happened much earlier?"  
  
He tramped into the chamber, with Bulma skittering to catch up. She touched his bare shoulder. He definitely was feverish.  
  
"So you at least admit that something's gone haywire in your body," she argued. "If it's not a cold, then maybe we should be worried. You feel feverish. That doesn't happen to everyone."  
  
"There is no ' _we'_ in this discussion!" Vegeta spun around, moving her back. "You heard me _the first time_ , woman. Let's get started."  
  
The shooter robots followed his footsteps, opening their glowing metal jaws. Clicking and whirring noises buzzed in Vegeta and Bulma's ears. Worry started to replace the arousal she felt from watching him -- but the latter wouldn't disappear completely.  
  
She shrugged, walking out. "Fine, then. Sequence one."  
  
"No!" Vegeta shouted. "I want the highest level!"  
  
"Well, you're not getting it yet!" Bulma slammed the door, triggering her microphone. "You will not -- and I mean not -- tell me what to do with _my experiment_. We are _doing_ a beta test. Be the intelligent man I know you are and calm down!"   
  
Vegeta's gaze moved from the entryway. Most people knew he was smart -- even those who called him stupid -- but he hadn't heard anyone say so this directly since childhood. Bulma had been plainspoken, once again affirming his personhood.  
  
He looked up, rubbing his knuckles. "So I get to play like an infant with these toys?"  
  
"Yes." Bulma adjusted the controls. "Shall I find a pacifier?" A rod extended from a side compartment near the door, handing Vegeta three large water bottles.  
  
"Power level?"  
  
"They're shooting blanks," Bulma replied. "Drink the water first."  
  
"Damn it, woman!" Vegeta gulped the water, appearing more vexed than he really was. He only wanted to prove his point to Bulma that he would be fine.   
  
His body fell back into a handspring vault, spinning him upward to catch heavy metal rings extending and retracting from the top. The robots shot above, below and between the rings as Vegeta made split-second decisions about his next movements. Bulma had seen him work out before, but not like this. He would only get better with each hurdle.  
  
An hour passed -- a mere Planck in Vegeta's normal intensive routine -- when he dropped to the floor. His hand waved at Bulma to pause the training sequence.  
  
She stood, closely observing his movements onscreen. "What?"  
  
"See, I'm fine," his raspy voice crowed. "I haven't even broken a sweat. Start a new sequence, or I can guide you through redoing this one, at least."  
  
"Honestly." Sounding like her mother, Bulma expressed her disapproval with a tongue click. "You are hopeless, and I said no."  
  
"And I said I feel fine."

Vegeta lost those arguments, of course -- and quite spectacularly. A hacking cough joined his not-so-merry parade of symptoms the next morning. Woke him up, to be exact. His chafed nose ran like a fountain between what felt like endless sneezing fits. He wondered if enough tissues existed on Earth to help. For someone whose normal temperature ran higher anyway, having a persistent fever also rankled him. He still trained in blistering heat often to maintain his endurance in harsher climates. Thus, he didn't need any more "help" on that end. And since when did colds cause fevers? Didn't Bulma say something about that not happening as often?  
  
His body didn't feel weak though. Yet how could he feel this terrible? This viral pall was a nuisance that he wouldn't give in to. He grabbed his robe and sandals. No one in the Brief family would be awake at this hour, including Bulma. He used a different corridor in the main house to reach the kitchen, bypassing places where his coughing would be detected before he was ready to discuss how pissed off he was about it.  
  
After juice and a tub of porridge, he would head to his regular training space. He shoved a new kerchief over his mouth as the sneezing and coughing continued. There was no way he could touch anything without using gloves or disinfectant. He certainly didn't need Bulma and Panchy bitching at him about that.  
  
"Maybe you should just go back to bed, Vegeta."  
  
He cringed as Bulma stood beside him in her pajamas. He should have felt her presence much earlier. "Damn it. Why are you ---"  
  
"Why am I up?" Her eyes rolled. "Because I couldn't sleep and heard you coughing as I passed by your room earlier. You can't possibly be planning to train."  
  
Vegeta shut the fridge door, sniffling. "What _is it_ with you?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Bulma pushed him aside, reopening the fridge. He still smelled like fresh soap from the previous day. "I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to rest."  
  
"Woman, I had my heart almost blown out of my chest, point blank, as I choked on my own blood. Do you actually believe I give a damn about _a cough_ and _a few sneezes_? If humans don't die from this, then I don't see myself going that way either."  
  
"This might help alleviate the coughing." Bulma dropped a chilled bottle of medicinal syrup into his hands. "I can't do anything about your sneezing. Must be a genetic quirk that causes that part to be more prevalent."  
  
She didn't want Vegeta to suffer, but she was nowhere near unhappy about that other "part." He slumped down at the table, staring at his porridge. His appetite was gone, but he couldn't train without eating properly. He blew into the kerchief it as quietly as he could. Then that strange twinkle in Bulma's eyes reappeared.   
  
"You seem to be entertaining yourself at my expense."  
  
Bulma propped her elbows on the table, holding up her chin. "Well, I must say, it is kind of cute seeing you like this. Your red nose looks like a cute little stop sign."  
  
"Maybe I will return to bed." Vegeta stood, grabbing the medicine from the table. "There is nothing _cute_ about me -- or this thing infesting my godlike body."   
  
Bulma sashayed to the kitchen door as he shuffled next to her. His sniffling stopped briefly as his eyelids shut, causing him to bump into her again as he sneezed.  
  
"I almost feel like you keep touching me on purpose," she said, serenely grasping his arm. "Maybe it's a subconscious thing. Maybe you want to be taken care of differently."  
  
"That observation could go both ways," Vegeta replied through a cough, "but I believe you're projecting." His dick felt hard. Maybe it was the fever, but she appeared so beautiful and willing. But he was sick. Sharing germs like hygiene-challenged preschoolers sounded beyond unappealing. And yet not completely? What was this scourge doing to his mind? Maybe she was correct. His condition could be more serious.  
  
"I'll be upstairs with some tea in about twenty minutes," Bulma said. "Get back in bed."  
  
Vegeta looked her hand. "Your death grip on my arm poses a problem, do you think?"  
  
"Oh yeah." She stepped back. "Sorry." 

With precision timing, Bulma carried a tray of ginger and lemon tea, along with some honey, to Vegeta's room. The cough syrup worked, although the effect would likely be temporary. Vegeta was asleep, as she expected. She'd wake him up long enough for tea, which she hoped would help him want to rest longer.  
  
She patted his shoulder. "Hey. Wake up for a little bit. Drink some of this tea."  
  
Vegeta eyes didn't open at first, though his hand willingly touched hers. "I don't need it. Go deal with the sequencing on the machine."  
  
Bulma set the cup down, smiling. "Prince Vegeta, raise up this instant and drink the fucking tea already. You will go back to sleep. I promise."  
  
Vegeta massaged the base of his throat, appearing amused. "Did you order the weakling around like this through the duration of your relationship?"  
  
Bulma was taken aback. "Why do you care all of a sudden about the inner details of my relationship with Yamcha?"  
  
"I don't," Vegeta said, taking a tablespoonful of honey she offered. "I'm interested in seeing impediments removed. That happened. There's nothing else left to say."  
  
"Oh yeah, buddy, there's a lot left to say." Bulma eyed him guardedly. " _What_ did you do?"  
  
Vegeta took what seemed like an hour-long sip from his tea before answering. Bulma wanted to smack him. Instead, she tapped the cup's rim.  
  
"You're drinking it too fast. The teapot isn't going anywhere. Answer my question."  
  
"If you mean whether I hurt Yamcha in any way, Bulma, my answer is no." Pressing the man's neck against the brick wall didn't count because no broken bones were sustained, he thought.  
  
"In some way?" Alarm bells went off in Bulma's mind, "We both know your definition of bodily or psychological harm isn't aligned with anything normal! What did you do to him?!"  
  
"Your shrieking isn't helping you _or me_ feel better," Vegeta said, leaning forward. "If Yamcha were hurt, any one of your ungrateful friends would have told you by now. I'm actually surprised he hasn't come whining to you about --"  
  
Bulma's hurt look stopped him from saying more. She dropped a capsule next to the bed containing tissue boxes, a cart stacked with sundry medicinal rubs and breathing remedies, hand sanitizer, a thermos of hot chicken soup, and a stack of handkerchiefs.  
  
"My friends may be difficult sometimes, but they aren't ungrateful -- and Yamcha isn't a terrible person either. He's just misguided -- and not the guy I'm meant to be with, obviously. But all of them love and care a lot for me. You almost obsessively distrust emotional commitments."  
  
"So?" Vegeta held her gaze, awaiting a backhanded insult to deflect. "What of it?"   
  
Bulma folded her hands on the tray. "Don't underestimate my capacity for understanding why you do -- because of a history that I know you can't fully share with me or others -- but since you're living in my home, try to show a little more respect for my views."   
  
After taking another spoonful of honey, Vegeta moved the tray to leave his bed. Bulma expected him to be uncomfortable with the direction of their talk. She was herself.  
  
"I'm going out for a while," he replied. "My symptoms are manageable now, it appears. The one thing I'm clear on is that you have more productive ways to use your time than boiling tea. Normally you would yell at me to do it myself."  
  
Bulma laughed. "You still sound like you've swallowed gravel. Anyway, as you can see, I brought tissues and a stack of kerchiefs. Be as creative as you'd like with nose-blowing, but throw the cloths in the hamper so they can be cleaned. Tissues go in the rubbish bin."  
  
"Where the hell else would they go?" Vegeta wisecracked. "In case you haven't noticed, I keep my room quite neat, or have you become situationally blind to annoy me further?"  
  
He looked up, taking a kerchief to rub his raw, itchy nose. Both he and Bulma rose quickly, but not before he could block the next sneezing fit. Bulma held his arm as his body rattled.  
  
He sniffled, shaking off her grasp. "God, I hate my life."  
  
"Are you sure about that?" Bulma touched his chin, pressing her breasts against his chest. "At least you aren't snotty at this moment."  
  
"You're being foolish." Vegeta shook his head, knowing where this risky situation could be headed. "You just recovered from an illness. There's no way I'm letting you --"  
  
Bulma dived in for the sensuous kiss they both wanted. "I didn't think you cared."  
  
Vegeta's right hand dropped to the center of her back, while his left caressed her neck. Having her in his arms made everything near them disappear from his view. All he felt was Bulma's hands searching places on his body that no woman had in a long, long time. His lower abdomen pulsed as her left leg partially wrapped around his thigh. Their intense kissing deepened as Bulma's right hand lightly pricked his balls. Vegeta held her waist, pushing her body against a wall next to a window. Bulma's hand fell into an easy rhythm of hard and soft strokes on his dick, using the rings on her fingers to increase his pleasure.  
  
Then, unexpectedly, Vegeta moved her arms down. He felt overwhelmed by his near-loss of control. Forced detachment replaced the excitement in his eyes. "It is unwise for us to do this."  
  
Bulma wiped her mouth raggedly. "It's my decision to make."  
  
"And I have made mine," he replied. "You should go."  
  
"No way," Bulma argued. "Not until you tell me --"  
  
Vegeta frowned. "Tell you _what_ , Bulma? I don't owe you an explanation other than I want to stop. I admit, I am an ass -- proudly so -- but in this case, if you wanted what I'm asking of you now, I would give you that courtesy."  
  
His rejection stung more than she thought it would. Embarrassment's heavy shroud fell. She handed him another capsule. "More tea and another light meal are in this one, but it sounds like you'll be back to normal soon. What happened with your cold -- or whatever -- must be a fluke, I guess."  
  
"And I'm sure your other lover, whoever it is, will be relieved that I'm no threat -- while healthy or sick."  
  
Vegeta figured out who the person the evening after visiting Bulma's penthouse, when Launch was there. The realization wasn't shocking. Bulma didn't seem like the type who wouldn't explore her desires in different ways, and Launch clearly had few inhibitions or much impulse control. However, as he and Bulma kissed, reality struck hard. He couldn't get drawn into any of this. Locking horns further with Launch -- who appeared to be in denial about the extent of her possessiveness -- would be dangerous for everyone.  
  
He preferred forgetting over forgiveness.  
  
Outraged, Bulma came close to kicking him. "So that's what this is about? Your ego can't accept that I might have fucked someone else at a really difficult time in my life? How _dare you_ judge me?! You're not omniscient either, jerk."  
  
"Might have?" Vegeta picked up a towel, heading to the shower room. "You _definitely_ have. But my ego isn't playing a role here and neither does judgment. I'm not as conservative as you think I am."  
  
"Doesn't sound like it to me," Bulma replied irritably. "Then what's your point?"  
  
"My point is you should figure out where your head is, along with that other person, and leave me out of it. We have a business arrangement. That takes priority."  
  
"You know what?" Bulma stomped to the bedroom's exit, flinging the door open. "Try removing your head from your tight ass more often. You might actually smell something better than your own gas."  
  
Billowy steam clouds from the bathroom appeared almost immediately after Vegeta turned on the water. After dribbling some menthol solution on the hot shower head, he laid his skull on the tile. He breathed in deeply to relieve his foggy brain.  
  
"It's funny, Bulma. Not long ago you sat here discussing your capacity to understand my distrust of emotional attachments -- and then asked me to respect yours."  
  
Bulma touched the door frame, looking back. "That is so not fair, using my words against me like that. That's totally different."  
  
"If that's what you choose to believe, then so be it. Thanks for the tea and medicine, and your work on the machine." With that, his index finger unfurled to close the bathroom door. 

* * *

**A/N - If you're still reading, thank you! Your engaging comments are always appreciated.  
**


	5. Feeling Too Much of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from last chapter: Vegeta and Bulma ended up in each other's arms, albeit briefly. He challenged her to confront other problems she's facing, while he avoids his own.

Almost a week had passed and Bulma's mind felt polluted -- in a good and bad way. Yet she quit trying to block the vision of Vegeta's embrace and kiss from memory. In a way the aftermath felt liberating, despite their disagreement afterward. She scolded herself for being slightly surprised that he pulled away as soon as did. She herself had protested in vain -- to everyone within earshot -- that she wanted nothing to do with her house guest beyond their "business arrangement," until the simplest of all vulnerabilities made him strikingly and irresistibly adorable: the common cold.  
  
Vegeta was recovering adequately, as said he would, though he wouldn't allow any further examination to discover how a simple human virus cracked his immunity when more virulent communicable diseases had not for most of his life. Nevertheless, Bulma's father had more than enough data about Vegeta's physiology to authorize further tests but, like the prince, he didn't consider it a high priority.  
  
Vegeta wouldn't end his self-imposed exile from person-to-person contact until his nagging cough disappeared. He even left his bedroom to sleep -- or merely try to -- in another part of the house so no one would continue hearing him at night. Being who she was, Panchy felt sorry for him but also knew enough _by now_ not to draw more attention to the problem. After their first big argument, she paused to consider his growing influence on her family.  
  
Vegeta ended up being the most effective person ever to challenge her high-strung babying of Bulma. So much of his personality consisted of "Why should I give two fucks about your denial?" He simply didn't care to sugarcoat his words about much of anything with anyone because, selfish or not, he valued himself.  
  
Panchy brushed her black thoroughbred horse, Candy, thinking about these and other concerns until the stately animal lowered its head and stamped. Panchy, who already knew she wasn't alone, glanced back briefly before resuming her task.  
  
Vegeta silently walked into the stable with a sweat-soaked towel draped over his shoulders. Three days earlier, when his room was cleaned, he noticed that the cough medicine had been replaced with a small box of hand-prepared teabags. Two capsules sat next to it, with a list of their contents. Panchy had packed enough food in them to last for months, even for a Saiyan.  
  
"You're feeling better, I suppose?" she asked, keeping her attention on the horse. "Sounds like those herbs I ground up for the cough worked."  
  
"It seems to be gone entirely," he replied.  
  
"So you rested and trained properly?"  
  
"I suppose." Vegeta partially untied a few bales of straw, throwing piles into other horses' stalls. "The cough only troubled me most after my training sets -- and mostly at night, as you know."  
  
"You're welcome then," Panchy said, gently patting Candy's head. "My prized mare seems to be distracted. She can't keep her eyes away from you."  
  
Vegeta watched the horse, matching her curious gaze with his own. "If these animals are as smart as you say, I would be wary of my presence here too."  
  
"Oh, she is." Panchy faced him, wiping her hands. "Trust my word on that. Thanks for stopping by to say you're feeling better. Will you join us for dinner tonight?"  
  
Vegeta thought about his last in-person encounter with Bulma. They had not spoken since then, except for a text informing him that the new training machine would be available for further use in a few days.  
  
Strange that Panchy didn't mention anything about her either.  
  
"Maybe…maybe tomorrow," he replied, shifting his feet. "The food and temporary storage you provided in my room are sufficient."  
  
"All right, Vegeta. Whatever you feel most comfortable with."  
  
Panchy tried not to stare long at Vegeta's perfectly shaped buttocks while he ambled out. He made sure to throw another bale of straw into another stall before leaving, civilly. She smiled as her sweet-natured horse affectionately nudged against her shoulder.  
  
"Yes, the struggle is real," she whispered, laughing to herself. "Those lucky Saiyan women must have really enjoyed their men in the bed, especially if those fellas were all built like him. But, dear lady, my husband is the only guy who makes my heart swoon. No amount of muscles and alluring half-frowns will change that."  
  
Her thoughts soon returned to Vegeta's overall appearance. This time she sensed confusion. He didn't want to be like them and expressed contempt almost rabidly when anyone pushed him too far on the subject. He had set himself apart as the permanent foreigner on a planet full of immigrants. He had a horrific past that even she -- the nosiest family member -- shied from learning much more about. Yet Vegeta could be darkly funny, surprisingly helpful, genuinely curious, and always, always smart. But, any mortals, he did stupid things.   
  
It became clear to her that with each passing day, the Saiyan prince probably felt like he was feeling too much of everything now -- including their acceptance.

* * *

Bulma covered the top half of her body with napkins, preparing for a flood of fish and chips' drippings that would soon glide between her fingers. A frothy mug of beer topped off this high-calorie comfort-food festival. She owned a private stake in the modest restaurant, helping the older couple who founded the business keep it running without money worries in this now-expensive part of West City. A back room located behind the main kitchen was all hers whenever she wanted to use it. She could entertain herself for hours with darts or pinball, or even single-player chess.  
  
"Having a bad day?" Launch pushed the heavy curtains covering the door back, peeking inside. "Bert and Millie said you didn't say much before entering this playroom of yours."  
  
Bulma licked her fingers. "Please don't give me a reason -- and lay off the judgmental commentary about a playroom those two sweet old people helped me furnish."  
  
"Furnish, not decorate," Launch teased. "This entire place is nothing but a dive bar you preserved on the good side of town."   
  
"Why are you here, Launch?"  
  
"Just checking on you, I guess."  
  
"Don't tell me mom sent you," Bulma said, dropping a messy napkin on the table. "I just wish --"  
  
"No, she didn't," Launch said, appearing hurt by Bulma's lackluster response. "I mean, we're friends. I don't need constant prompting from Panchy to visit or be concerned about you. Life has been really hard on you lately. Krillin and Chi Chi wouldn't mind hearing from you too."  
  
"OK," Bulma replied. She felt unmoved and slightly guarded, though she couldn't fathom why. "So you asked father where I was, then. He's the only person at Capsule's east-side lab who spoke directly with me before I came here."  
  
Launch poured herself a mug of beer, sitting across from her. "Why are you responding like something suspicious happened? You act like we just didn't have a hell of a lot of fun together in bed not so long ago."   
  
"Yeah, and while I was coming down off of the craziest high that I can never discuss with _anyone_ but you, I also now remember you saying you went too far. Maybe that was the truth."  
  
"But you were still _right there_ with me -- sex toys and all," Launch said sharply. "I didn't force you into anything you didn't want to do. You said that you weren't feeling vulnerable because of your breakup with Yamcha, so I took you at your word. I _respected_ your judgment, unlike others in your life have recently."  
  
Bulma sighed. "Look, I apologize for sounding cross. I'm just concerned about what I feel like is your growing attachment to me."  
  
Launch's fingers clamped together as she leaned back. "Does your sudden concern have anything to do with a certain body-building boarder with a bad attitude living at your estate?"  
  
"Oh please, woman!" Bulma moaned. "Stop trying to distract yourself -- and me -- from my point."  
  
"I could say _the same_ for you," Launch said coolly. "You don't have to worry about me interfering with your playgirl game, honey. I encouraged it, remember?"  
  
Bulma walked to the dart board, leaving Launch at the rickety card table. "This isn't a good moment for us to extend our pussycat claws. I guarantee that mine are longer and are more lethal than yours."  
  
"I guess it's good that we stopped carrying guns," Launch replied, taking a box of darts handed to her. "Regular game or Cricket this time? Also, you get to apologize if I win."  
  
"Regular, and I am not agreeing to those terms," Bulma said, preparing to throw her first shot. "How many legs of this game are we playing?"  
  
"Ha!" Launch clapped her hands. "You're off to a bad start, girlie. As I said, I'm not the one to worry about. You're usually a better shot than this. What did --."  
  
Bulma clutched her arm to interrupt. "Did you tell Tien anything? You said you share almost everything."  
  
"No questions asked, like I told you." Launch replied, twirling a dart between her fingers. "I didn't say anything about you, though. I didn't even tell him --"  
  
"That you slept with anyone at all." Bulma's lips pursed. She hated to believe that Vegeta had been correct, yet again. Her dart penetrated the cork with a solid thud. "OK. I just can't finish this."  
  
"What, Bulma?" Launch's arms spread wide. "What? Would you have rather had me _lay it all_ out there with Tien? I'm sure Yamcha would love _that_ for a parting breakup gift! Men share secrets among themselves all the time, but they're much worse at keeping them."  
  
"Stop it!" Bulma shouted. "I'm not trying to say you're crazy! All I'm saying is you helped me tap into another side of myself sexually again -- a weird one, yes -- but it opened doors to explore in other ways I hadn't considered. While I am delighted about that, and I appreciate it, I can't let you guide me beyond this point."   
  
"Oh, and you think _Vegeta_ will do that?" Launch asked skeptically. "Think hard about that, doll face. We know he's into you, but I now agree with your _original beliefs_ about that man. He is nowhere near prepared to provide what you need sexually or otherwise. The only person he truly cares about -- and always will care about -- _is himself_."  
  
Bulma refilled her mug, lapping foam from the top. "I haven't mentioned Vegeta once since you got here, Launch."  
  
"You didn't have to, and I'm not jealous." Though Bulma had not offered to share, Launch grabbed _her mug_ for a hefty gulp this time. "Maybe all I want is for you not to fall into the same god-awful emotional trap that you did with Yamcha. I was wrong to encourage you to play with fire, with Vegeta."  
  
"Stop making assumptions." After reclaiming her kidnapped beer, Bulma looked up. "Nothing has happened between us."  
  
She knew her reply hovered between truth and lie, but she ultimately decided that not having sex with Vegeta fit the appropriate definition of "nothing."  
  
"The hell it hasn't," Launch said, lightly poking Bulma's forearm. "Now give me some more of that tasty beer."  
  
Bulma moved the mug behind her back, placing it on the bar. "Not a chance. It's too early for either us to get stinking drunk. Go do something fun and stop worrying about me. I need to finish up my playtime here and return to work."  
  
"Playtime, huh? What about this?" Launch seized Bulma's wrists, pulling her headfirst into a kiss.  
  
Bulma's back smacked into the bar, knocking their mugs over. She eventually freed an arm to push back but then hesitated. Sensing the change, Launch took full advantage, reaching underneath Bulma's skirt and panties, thrusting two fingers deep inside of her.  
  
Bulma gasped. Why was her so-called friend attempting to weaken her will like this? She started second guessing everything. Maybe she was far more vulnerable about her life choices than she recognized -- and here was another convenient escape. Her hands softly combed through Launch's hair as they kissed, signaling her impending surrender.  
  
"Yeah, I thought so." Launch raised up, smiling proudly. "He _rejected_ you, didn't he?"  
  
Those mocking words fell on Bulma's ears like a neutron bomb. Launch, in her conceit, didn't expect what would come next. Bulma reached up and punched the daylights out of her. Launch tumbled to the floor, moaning from shock and pain. Oval-shaped dents appeared on her right cheek.  
  
"How dare you say that to me?!" Bulma yelled furiously. "This isn't a goddamn competition! And you have the gall to warn me about Vegeta's motives?! Get the fuck out of my place right now!"  
  
Someone banged on the door before any response could be delivered. Bulma's finger lifted over her lips, warning Launch to keep her mouth closed.  
  
"Ms. Bulma? It's Millie. Everything all right? Sounds like some fighting back there."  
  
Bulma ducked under the curtains to crack the door open. "Oh, we're fine, Millie. Launch and I were playing a tough dart game, and then she slipped and fell. We're putting some ice on her face to stop any swelling before it gets real bad."  
  
"All right then," Millie said warily. "Just let me and Bert know if you need anything."  
  
"Of course, my friend. We're OK, though." Bulma jogged to the freezer, removing an ice pack as soon as the pint-sized woman shuffled back inside of the main restaurant.  
  
Launch, who was sitting crossed-legged on the floor, yanked the pack from her hands. "You had _no right_ to hit me like that," she cried. "I would have never done that to you!"  
  
"Maybe not, but you don't get off that easily," Bulma bent down, gazing hard at the crying woman. "Be glad I don't tell Tien anything _out of spite_. I have no idea what's going on with you, Launch, but I don't believe you're as happy with him as you say you are. But none of that is my problem. Now get the hell out. You can take the ice pack with you."  
  
"I'm sorry, girlie. It's just that…I wasn't trying to hurt you."  
  
"Be quiet." Bulma covered Launch's mouth. "I don't care right now. I'm not hurt either, just disappointed in the friend I thought I had. Use the back door to leave."

* * *

  
Bulma drove home after retrieving an "emergency" box of cigarettes from underneath the bar. She hadn't smoked in more than two years. The fragrant clove-scented tobacco pumped the ideal amount of dopamine through her brain's pleasure centers. At least she forced herself to have enough fun before Launch's manipulative behavior ruined it.  
  
The estate's gates flew open, greeting her speeding hover car. She parked in front, jumping out in a fresh set of casual clothes and matching sneakers. Sunglasses sat atop her head though dusk would soon be replaced by evening starlight. All communications devices were turned off. Cigarettes and a full water bottle were her trusted companions. She trudged on a lighted path to a small natural fountain partially draped by trees.  
  
She sat on a stone bench set back a few yards in the grass. Soft lights enhanced the scenery. Bulma lit another clove cigarette, blowing a smoke plume overhead. After a few minutes, unwanted tears fell. She puffed on the cigarette again. It had not been that long that she felt more sure about her place in the world. She didn't want to backtrack now.  
  
"No amount of added fragrance can hide how disgusting those things are."  
  
"Spare me the healthy-living lecture," Bulma said, flicking ashes on the ground. "I have one father already, Vegeta."  
  
He landed in front her with his arms crossed. They both knew he was being judgmental, and true to their personalities, neither one cared what the other thought about it.  
  
"And the old man still smokes."  
  
"Exactly," Bulma replied indignantly. "Look, I don't mean to be rude --"  
  
"You mean not at this moment?" Vegeta asked. "May I time you before the next episode? I promise I'll keep my head out of my ass long enough to take notes."  
  
His cocked eye and competitive smile tempted and irritated her immensely. He wanted something. Definitely not sex, though. That's what Bulma told herself. She moved to the end of the bench, turning her back so he wouldn't see her crying. Having him there felt like having salt rubbed into a wound.  
  
"I came out her to be alone," she replied. "I haven't bothered saying anything all week about you coughing up your lungs, sounding worse than any smoker I've heard lately. Seems like you got it all figured out."  
  
"You did your part. At least I thanked you."  
  
"Oh glory be!" Bulma lifted her hand, waving it like an old-time preacher. "Thank the heavens above that the mighty Vegeta can deign to show gratitude to anyone for anything."  
  
Vegeta couldn't understand why earthlings' mockery often referenced gods and heavenly spaces. Having seen hell up close, both dead and alive, he had no taste for making light of anything related the subject.  
  
"Stop sulking!" he bellowed. "Whatever it is can't be that bad!"  
  
"Fuck this and fuck you!" Bulma stamped on her cigarette. "Can't I get a moment's peace?! What _is it_ with everyone trying to suck the life out of me? A bunch of liars all around me! 'Bulma, you should take better care of yourself.' 'Bulma you should let go of ties holding you back. 'Bulma you should get some sexual healing.' Well, shit. I've tried all that, and I'm still --"  
  
Bulma's legs lost contact with the ground, abruptly ending her rant. The fountain faded beneath the trees as a breeze washed over her body. Then she looked down and screamed bloody murder.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?! Let me go!" Her kicking, cursing and hollering went were ignored -- to a point -- as Vegeta sailed higher into the air.  
  
He cut his eyes after she fired a particularly harsh obscenity at him. "In all my life I have never heard _any_ woman curse like you, and I have met some hardened and exceedingly vulgar ones. Where did you learn these words?"  
  
"So what?" Bulma shot back. "You seem to know many of them anyway -- and I really don't see how being a woman matters!""  
  
"It was _my job_ to know. Earth was fortunate that Frieza's scouts seemed to take little interest before I first got here. Called it an 'underdeveloped backwater planet' that no one would want. They lied, evidently. In fact, I'm almost certain that some faked their own deaths to live here. Only one returned, cursing like you when he got angry. Someone ripped his intestines out."  
  
Bulma didn't want to know who did. "So you do like my planet?" she replied, yearning to change the subject. "Finally."  
  
"Stop putting words I _did not say_ in my mouth," Vegeta growled. He moved her to sit on his back, hoping to lower the volume of her shrieking near his ears.  
  
"OK, fine." Her face buried between his shoulder blades. "Where are we going then?"  
  
Vegeta's lip twitched as he withheld a strong urge to laugh. "Honestly, woman. It's pitch black up here. Not to mention you've flown spaceships and hovercraft through worse conditions. That submarine you navigated on Namek also comes to mind."  
  
"I was Inside of them!" Bulma grabbed a fistful of his hair. "Inside!"  
  
She didn't remember going this fast or high with Goku when they were younger, but mentioning that would probably prompt Vegeta to prolong their flight together. She tried hard not to puke as he dived like a seagull toward terra firma. He removed her from his back like a knapsack after they landed.  
  
"Your penchant for unnecessary drama is staggering," he scolded as he held her upright. "You were the one who texted me about returning here."  
  
Bulma's wobbly legs crossed over each other. Her curly blue hair had spun out like an electrified fishnet. She staggered sideways until Vegeta held her shoulders again.  
  
"Shut _up_ ," she slurred. "We could have taken my car to the lab."   
  
"Are we going in or not?"  
  
"No, Vegeta! You would have turned five shades of red from anger had I disturbed you from your 'alone time.' Don't you think I deserve that respect?"  
  
"You disturb me all the time when it's convenient for you -- and seem to care less each day whether I'm angry afterward. I'm merely returning the favor. Now do whatever is required to enter."  
  
Bulma didn't budge. "What part of 'no' do you not understand? Besides, I'm hungry again!"  
  
"That's taken care of." Vegeta's hand opened, revealing a few meal capsules. "I think one has some of those hairy red fruits you like. The sweet ones."  
  
"Strawberries? You brought _me_ strawberries?"  
  
Annoyed and confused by her skepticism, Vegeta carefully considered what to say next. He liked the fruit too. Bulma's preference for them simply gave him reason to bring more.  
  
"Uh, yes?"  
  
Bulma's tongue curled in her mouth. "What is this -- an apology for the way you coldly dismissed me the other day? What else do you want?"  
  
"I just told you! Not _everything_ I do has a complex motive behind it. Regarding that night, you are no fool and know there will be no apology. I said a lot more than I normally would. Given your appearance, I suspect something happened to confirm everything I said."  
  
"I'm not going to discuss that, Vegeta."  
  
He moved closer to the building's entrance, moving Bulma ahead of him. "I didn't plan to ask. Now are we going in?"  
  
Not asking didn't mean Vegeta was completely uninterested in knowing what happened between Bulma and Launch. But what good would that do? He said in plain words that he wanted nothing to do with Bulma's predicament -- and he meant it.  
  
Yet his memory unsympathetically replayed the taste of her kiss. He felt stupid for sampling the forbidden fruit that Bulma was, and now nothing blocked him from stealing the entire basket -- nothing but himself.  
  
"We will reconfigure one training sequence together with the new machine. Have your meal while I prepare myself. I will go change into my fighting suit now."  
  
Bulma looked at her watch. "Aren't you eating?"  
  
"Afterward. Give me about twenty minutes to prepare myself. I must settle my mind."  
  
"Do your thing," Bulma said, opening the food capsule. "Make it thirty. I'll eat slowly."  
  
Vegeta entered the lab's luxurious fitness center, heading for the changing room. He didn't expect anyone else to be there, but he locked the door anyway. After inspecting the suit again for flaws, he stood in front of a mirror to remove his clothes. Not having his tail anymore still irked him. It was like having a second hand and another dick.  
  
His eyes closed as his hand took a snug hold of his real dick. His head rested on the mirror's rim as the sensation sent prickles through the lower half of his body. His dick throbbed its way into a satisfying hardness as he moved between various strokes.  
  
He laid on a bench, continuing until his pelvis arched. He wanted to pleasure himself for as long as he could now to be disciplined later while training.  
  
He panted and moaned Bulma's name, holding back from full orgasm to assert his willpower. Then a voice in his head prompted him to look up. Bulma had entered this changing room from another end.   
  
"Whoa!" She stepped back.  
  
Vegeta's thighs slammed together. "Why, for god's sake, are you in here?!!!"  
  
"I should be asking you the same question." Bulma said, throwing him another towel. "This is the _women's_ changing room, fool, but I'll leave so you can finish 'settling.' Hmm. I wonder if Goku did this too before sparring."  
  
"Do you want to die?!" Vegeta tied the towel around his waist, thundering past her. "I don't need that image of him contaminating my mind!"  
  
"We _can_ do this, Vegeta."  
  
He turned around. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"You said we can't explore each other. I call bullshit on that. Let's give ourselves permission to. What do we have to lose? You're not asking me to be anything more than who I truly am. I need that. Once we've had our fill of each other, we both walk away with no strings. As you said, business is business. Can you do that?"  
  
Vegeta didn’t respond. He didn't believe she could pull it off. But beyond that, he wasn't sure if he could. Losing himself in a woman -- especially this one -- didn't fit into any plan. That's why he stopped their kiss that day, but the thought of touching her again…  
  
He picked her up, carrying her as they kissed fiercely. Streaks of Bulma's lipstick smeared across his face.   
  
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, touching his neck. "Why not do this here?"  
  
Vegeta licked her earlobe. "No. In the machine. Let's baptize your creation."  
  
  



	6. Time for Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap: After feeling manipulated once again, a disappointed Bulma goes off by herself -- only to be found by Vegeta, who wanted to take her mind off of her troubles for his own reasons. Bulma ends up making a proposition that leads to something much bigger.

Vegeta's desire to have sex in the machine wasn't crazy. To Bulma, this act was an appropriate beginning. Not only was he affirming his power, but hers as well. She poured so much of herself into the project, with the potential of doing much more. Vegeta may not have been able to express the extent of his gratitude in words, but the underlying message was clear. Yet obsession with his ultimate goal would remain all-consuming, along with his mental struggle over how he ended up where he was at this stage in life.  
  
_You are not a good man,_ his mind repeated before daily training. He couldn't reconcile how much his identity as warrior was deliberately melded with dysfunction to make him embrace that belief, for ill or good.  
  
For the moment, though, he allowed himself to experience a _different_ kind of pleasure that had been denied to him in endless ways -- and that he denied to himself. He hadn't made it this far without exercising the type of rigorous discipline and austerity that shamed others, but for a few. Goku rivaled him on that too, which aggravated his ego - among other humiliations.  
  
His and Bulma's erotic tryst didn't end at the lab either. They quietly left together en route to her city penthouse, to ensure there would be no prying eyes or disruptions. They barely spoke as Bulma de-capsulized another auto to drive. Both knew now a higher bar was set for discretion. Playing "hide and seek" sex games with their emerging affair, however, offered ample opportunities for fun.  
  
Vegeta, who was seated on the passenger side, felt the dashboard. The car's design was nowhere near as luxurious as the other vehicles Bulma owned -- not that he cared much. His mind worked on autopilot with most observations, including this, filing away details large and small about others' behavior for future reference.   
  
"Do you always carry extra cars around like bags of food?"  
  
Bulma laughed, sensing his mild surprise. "A woman always needs an escape method."  
  
"I guess that's fair."  
  
"You seem to have some fairly low opinions of the damage women can really do, Vegeta."  
  
"Seems to me that Earth is full of arrogant, weakling men who fear women, which is why they treat you all poorly or attempt to dominate you -- because of their own mental or physical shortcomings," he said, glancing at her. "If more women here claimed their _true_ might and authority, perhaps the results would be different."   
  
Bulma, whose hands tightened on the steering wheel, wondered if the man who just fucked like a hot-blooded tomcat in her lab had multiple personalities. Of course, this _was_ the same person who still had ample power to set Earth afire with his bare hands.  
  
Vegeta also had the audacity to criticize others' arrogance? How did she get herself into these situations?  
  
"Oh _really_?" she replied, purposely stressing her disbelief. "Define poorly for me. It sounds like you're blaming women if they're victimized through no fault of their own."  
  
Conversations like this reminded Vegeta of how different he was. He deemed it unnecessary to overly explain himself. Earth's societies weren't the only ones that faced these challenges. Of those that didn't on other planets, women were often the fiercest and most cunning fighters -- including psychologically. Some chose death over surrender, especially those without children. With pride, they would take out as many enemies as possible -- and, at times, out of spite, if aggressors were despicably dishonorable. Saiyan women fit the latter example, according to his early memories and stories shared with him.  
  
"Never mind."  
  
"Oh, come on, Vegeta!" Bulma stopped the car. This man was trained to dominate, and yet this. "You're really going to clam up on me now, especially after what we just did?"  
  
"I don't want to discuss this subject anymore," he said, lightly kissing Bulma's neck to distract her. "I'd rather focus on what we're doing _next_."  
  
Vegeta's warm hands glided underneath her shirt. Bulma's neck reclined against the car seat's headrest as he grasped her breasts. Her bra was missing.  
  
Her lips clamped. "Oh god."  
  
"I have it."  
  
"Have what?"  
  
"The cloth-covered chest harness you wear."  
  
"Chest harness?" Bulma bent over, removing his hands to laugh. "You are hilarious!"  
  
Vegeta left the car, replying, "I'm also not a buffoon. I know it's not for _physical_ _protection_. Other women --"  
  
"Stop talking and stalling, Vegeta. Just return my bra. It's one of my favorites."  
  
Why, oh why, did she tell him _that?!_  
  
"Find a new one," he instructed haughtily. "I prefer you without the harness. I expect you not to wear it whenever I tell you -- no matter what time, even when I am not present. That includes when you're working at any of your labs."  
  
"Are you crazy?" Bulma gripped the back of his shoulder. "Where do you get off telling me when and how I should be dressed? Where the hell is my bra?!"  
  
Vegeta pivoted, calmly catching her wrist to bring her closer. "The answer to the first question has been clear since we met. Determine the other two on your own."  
  
"There are still cameras here," Bulma replied quietly.  
  
"Are you _afraid of being seen_ now -- or just of me and what else I'm capable of?" Vegeta whispered, lifting her chin with one finger. "Remember, you _asked_ me."  
  
"And you agreed," she replied, as Vegeta's lips became taut. "I convinced you, and I think you know the answer to the first two questions. Fear has nothing to do with it."  
  
His eye pupils shifted between dusk and a muted silver. Bulma had never seen anything like it before. His unbreakable stare felt otherworldly, enchanting her. Bulma's wet lips separated as Vegeta's finger sent a tiny ki jolt down her spine. For a moment she couldn't move, until her warm shoulder blades closed around his palm. She was in a daze.  
  
He smiled.

His once-awkward reserve with her had been irreversibly discarded.  
  


* * *

  
Vegeta wasn't going to get off that easy, Bulma thought. She had her own desires to fulfill, but watching his silent beguilement with her brief incapacitation earlier aroused her too. He immediately resumed his "work" as soon as the apartment's heavy front door shut, tearing off Bulma's lab coat, pulling her pants down and pushing her over the edge of the dining table. Then he climbed over her, holding his swollen dick.  
  
"Hungry?" Bulma asked, licking her lips. Her hand pressed into the sweaty, soft flesh underneath, near his testicles. Her mouth formed an "o," playfully inviting his member in for a taste.  
  
Moisture from Vegeta's dick dripped on her chest as the sound blood rushed through his ears. Then his arms and knees buckled.  
  
"What…what are you doing?" He had a high pain tolerance, but the strange and familiar sensation still affected him -- almost freezing his body in place. He looked down, wheezing.  
  
"Turnabout is fair play." Bulma's right finger thrust harder into the place where his tail had been. Her eyes contracted as Vegeta's hand curled around her neck.  
  
His head shook as if overcome by dizziness. "If…I still…still had my tail, it would be…be wrapped around your throat! You actually think doing that hurts me?!"  
  
"It never hurt." Bulma gasped, smiling. "Not even… when you had the tail."  
  
"Flattery?" Vegeta's neck hold relaxed as if he'd never touched her. Bulma clearly had some other devilment in mind. "Interesting."  
  
He moved her hand in circles over the sensitive spot. His head laid on her chest as she fondled it with softer touches. He felt an almost overpowering urge to suckle her breasts. Eating on this table would _never_ happen again, Bulma mused. She considered capsulizing the furniture piece as a trophy she could whip out every time Vegeta needed petting.  
  
He looked like a happy newborn puppy, not at all like the man-hunting terror he once was -- or still was. Vegeta stopped suckling, sensing that her thoughts had drifted. His eyebrows knitted as she mindlessly fooled around with his hair.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Bulma placed a hand on his face. "Not what you think."  
  
"So you're a mind reader now?"  
  
"I’m not _bored_ , Vegeta."  
  
"How many times must I tell you to stop putting words in my mouth, woman?"  
  
"Maybe I wouldn't have to if you weren't so transparent."  
  
"And you are constantly searching for hidden meanings where there likely are none," Vegeta grunted with just enough stubborn harshness to reinforce his argument. "You must learn to be comfortable with silence."  
  
"We call that _curiosity_ ," Bulma said, holding his earlobes. "I'm sure you're familiar with the word. Besides, you started this discussion. I was content -- and _silent_."  
  
"Hn." Vegeta pawed at her hand. "Will you stop doing that?!"  
  
"Make me!" Bulma squeezed harder, and then flipped him off the table. "Wow, are your reflexes always this bad after sex?"  
  
Bulma bolted for the master bedroom. Seeing the slow-moving shock on Vegeta's face after her reflexes trampled all over his instinct was a sweet victory -- albeit a brief one. He had Bulma's wrist before she could touch the doorknob.  
  
"I'm done with child's games."  
  
"I doubt it." Bulma hurled the door open. "I bet this is the most fun you've had in… in.."  
  
"See what I mean?" Vegeta cupped her face, drawing her lips to his. "You talk too much."  
  
Bulma's arms draped over his neck as his tongue pressed into her mouth. "You made a request earlier, which I'm still considering. I have one of my own."  
  
Vegeta's expression returned to its computer-like watchfulness. Bulma wasn't the type to settle for "one" of anything. She knew he was well aware of that. She nodded at the bed for him to sit, retrieving the keys to unlock her new wardrobe cabinet. After opening both doors, she placed her hands on her hips. Then she moved aside, giving Vegeta full view of the inventory. Chains, handcuffs, whips, a _genuine_ harness, leather, bondage- rope restraints, giant candles, vibrators, cock rings, nipple clamps -- and a few mysterious-looking _things_ he couldn't name. One instrument looked like a stack of tentacles.  
  
"Any dead bodies I should know about?" he sniffed. "I haven't seen a collection of…tools… like these since my younger years in the PTO."  
  
Hairs stood up on Bulma's neck. Was he being jokey or was he uneasy? After all, despite his denial, Vegeta's personality still had a strong conservative side. Maybe she should have waited longer before revealing the "goods." Though he opened up erotically, and felt comfortable testing a request with her -- a rather cheeky one -- discussing their boundaries probably should happen. He plainly was no sexual novice, but even the most adventurous partners often had a "no." Did something draw out negative feelings?  
  
"Your comments don't inspire much confidence in exploration." She faced him, closing the cabinet. "What bothers you? They are all meant for pleasure."  
  
Vegeta crossed his arms. Bulma's sundry collection didn't intimidate him, though some pieces appeared to be one step below torture devices, he thought. She already revealed interest in inflicting pain. This, from a woman who chewed him out for strenuous training regimens that, in some cases, led to painful results that she was left to clean up.   
  
"You had a request," he replied.  
  
Bulma piled her hair on top of her head, securing it with a circular comb. "Let's start here: You can't touch me when I'm not wearing my 'cloth harness' in public."  
  
"That's it?" Vegeta asked skeptically. "That's not hard. What else? I know there's more."  
  
Bulma lit a candle, blowing the enticing scent in his direction. Rum, vanilla, plum. Her lidded eyes closed, taking in the fragrance before returning to the cabinet. She removed the bondage rope, kneading the braided hemp fiber between her fingers. Then she picked up the jeweled box she blamed for pushing her over the edge.  
  
"I have…found my way into a fixation that I never realized was possible."  
  
"You mean obsession." Vegeta stood, feeling his dick throb. Bulma's apprehension intrigued and aroused him. " _Tell me_."  
  
Bulma sighed, emerging from her reverie. Before she could move further, he already had one arm around her waist. His other hand plucked the box from her palm.  
  
"What is this?"  
  
"Vegeta! You really should stop taking things that don't belong to you!"  
  
"You started this -- all of it," he replied, handing it back. "Now finish."  
  
Bulma handed him the rope, dialing a code on a computerized wall pad. A suspension bar fell from the ceiling, moving over the bed.  
  
Vegeta blinked. She was fucking serious. Tie him up? Why? He'd never done that before. Too many difficult memories of seeing others bound and captured in hopeless conditions. What had Launch done -- because it had to be her, not Yamcha -- to cause this?   
  
"I am finished." Bulma stroked his face with the back of her hand, kissing him. "Your eyes have said enough."  
  
He hated how she saw through him. Now he had to stand his ground. "No, you're not finished."  
  
She hoisted herself onto the bed, pulling the ceiling pole down further. Her wrists crossed over each other. Her legs bent in the opposite direction.  
  
"Tie the rope to the bar, then bind my hands. After that, my feet."  
  
Vegeta complied. Seeing Bulma exposed and willing to be vulnerable like this made a lasting impression. His vanity suggested he didn't have to mimic _this_ particular act, but not reciprocating eventually could be interpreted as fear. He couldn't allow that.  
  
"What else?"  
  
"Return in about an hour. Leave the penthouse and bring back, um, some juice."  
  
"Excuse me?" Vegeta tied the last of the rope, slowly looking up. "You _want_ to be left alone…like this?"  
  
Bulma smiled. "Worried?"  
  
"Of course not," Vegeta replied dryly. "An hour seems appropriate for _whatever_ you're trying to accomplish to satisfy yourself without me here."  
  
He eyed her condition carefully before approaching the door, saying nothing as he left.  
  
Bulma's anxiety ebbed. Asking Vegeta to tie her up prevented an embarrassing situation. She felt stupid for entertaining the idea of telling him. His response may have been subdued, but he would probably wouldn't give up trying to discover the secret.  
  
He would either be grossed out or laugh at her, she thought.  
  
She stared at the cabinet shelf, angling her head until the tiny box glimmered. Her eyes shut. The room was equipped with enough tools to be its own space tower. She then remembered that the all voice-activated functions were operational. Vegeta had been gone no more than five minutes. He would likely meander before returning -- although not for long. She had to time this well.  
  
_I don't need that much. The effect won't carry over too long as long as its a small amount._  
  
"Scratch Five, activate 987ACQ."  
  
"Yes?" A small gold-colored robot sped from a hidden door near bed.  
  
"Bring that box on that shelf to me, and be careful not to spill anything."  
  
The bot's clawed arm grabbed the container, placing it on the bed. "Do you need to be untied as well, Dr. Brief?"  
  
"No." Bulma blushed. She didn't need a mechanical reminder of her weakness. "Deactivate voice operation and reduce robot's sentient awareness to point five."  
  
Then the speakerphone chimed.  
  
_Seriously!_ Bulma nearly hollered. Who the hell was this? At first she didn't want to listen to the message, but life had been so crazy lately…  
  
"Hey, B. It's Yamcha. I know it's a little late, but, uh, Panchy said you were out."  
  
Bulma exhaled. _That's right, Yamcha. I am. Just leave the damned message.  
  
_"Well, anyway, just give me a call if you can, B."

Bulma's head fell. Here she was, tied up like a pretzel to relieve nervousness over almost telling the man _she_ _pursued_ about her kink. She also assumed that Yamcha might be having buyer's remorse over their relationship breakup.  
  
Time for relief.

"987, scoop some powder from the box using the micro-trowel. Hold it up to my nose until it's inhaled. Also, hold a handkerchief over my face." _  
_

* * *

  
Vegeta didn't dawdle, in fact, choosing to overrule Bulma's one-hour edict. His thoughts nagged him beyond mere curiosity.  
  
_It's obvious this has been a common pastime for her. She did appear completely comfortable -- and delicious.  
  
_OK, maybe it was mere curiosity. To be sure, it _was not_ worry. Nope. _Not at all_.  
  
They still had a conversation to finish about her _fixation_ too.  
  
He quickly shoved the juice into the fridge after returning to the penthouse. The place was eerily quiet, even for him. Upon re-entering Bulma's room, he was shocked to find every rope strewn on the bed. He almost forgot to check for her barely perceptible ki.  
  
"What the hell?!" Hearing a trickle of water running in the shower, he sped into the bathroom. "Woman, what is going on?!" _  
_  
"Miss me?" Bulma laughed, leaning leisurely on the tile. She sniffled, rubbing her rosy nose. "Wondering how I got free?"  
  
Vegeta stared. His internal intuitive radar shouldn't have sounded such a huge alarm. "I suppose I am, but maybe it's better for me to leave instead."  
  
"Noooooo," Bulma hummed, strolling toward him. "We still have…still have…have unfinished…"  
  
She tripped over a slipper as she sneezed, inelegantly falling onto Vegeta's chest. Placing her arms around his waist, she giggled as he held her upright. Her fleshy tongue forced its way into his partially open mouth until his eyes closed. They moved back into the shower as he removed his clothes and shoes, breathing heavily into their kisses. Hot water spilled overhead. Bulma couldn't get enough as he pinned her against the tile wall for penetration.  
  
Her excited panting, however, set off a more potent trigger.  
  
"Wait, I'm gonna… have to sneeze again." Her body quaked as she muffled her bursts in a towel. "Etch... choo! _Choo!!!_ Oh, I'm so sorry, Vegeta! _Choo!_ "  
  
She was sorry she got caught. Maybe.  
  
Vegeta moved back, feeling amused -- and some trepidation. His dick was still hard, too, which wasn't the end of the world either. "It sounds like you're catching another illness."   
  
" _Choo!_ " Bulma tapped her nose, sniffling. "No, no. Maybe it's the new soap I bought -- and I wouldn't have asked you to tie me up if I were unwell, silly man."  
  
Right on the edge of a lie, but not one officially. The soap's perfume could have set off a residual effect from the teeny amount of powder she used. That's what she told herself.  
  
Vegeta observed her flared nose and pink cheeks, tilting his head. She looked…cute. Her nakedness only made the scene better.  
  
Bulma found towels in a hurry, pitching one at him. "What, Vegeta?"  
  
He cleared his throat, thinking about the ropes. "Nothing."  



	7. Damn It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From last chapter: Bulma and Vegeta got it on hot and heavy, further carrying out their agreement to act on their carnal desires, including role play. Yet Bulma is still debating about sharing her special kink just yet, though Vegeta almost caught her indulging.

Bert and Millie stood in awe as Vegeta consumed about ninety percent of their breakfast food stockpile set aside for two weeks: eggs, bacon, bread, fruit, and even oatmeal. When he not so gently stared at Bulma as if she had deprived them of adequate wares, the older gentleman stepped in.  
  
"Young fella, you can best be sure that Bulma --"  
  
"Dr. Brief, you mean?" Vegeta asked, dabbing his mouth with a long blue napkin.  
  
Bulma elbowed him, scowling. "Vegeta, we're all on a first-name basis here. You sure as hell don't use my title, and you live in my home."  
  
Vegeta now had an audience. There was no way he could let this unnecessary disclosure pass. "Correction, _Dr. Brief_. You and I live in _your paren_ ts' residence. You didn't procure it on your own."  
  
He couldn't resist rebelliously strolling along the line of perpetual irritation both had drawn between them. Having mind-blowing sex like wildcats wouldn't change that anytime soon. Besides, he thought, for Bulma to take offense about two people who appeared to be, in essence, her personal servants seemed hypocritical. Paying handsomely for their work wasn't a bad thing, but why shouldn't this couple use the title she earned after finishing her education?  
  
Of course, he was a prince -- about as haughty as one could be -- so he was more than biased about the subject. There would be no question about expectations if his childhood home still existed, but it didn't. He declared his royalty to remind himself of his self-worth. This attachment was a double-edged sword because it psychologically bound him to how much he lost, corroding his spirit, as much as Frieza's expectations of fealty without the benefit of full respect.   
  
The couple barely hid their surprise delivering wide-eyed stares at their guests. Millie pinched Bert's arm, smiling. He frowned, pushing her hand away.   
  
"How _dare_ you embarrass me like this?" Bulma's skin burned beet-red from Vegeta's taunting. "You arrogant jack ---"  
  
"As _my husband_ was saying," Millie interupted, "Dr. Brief helps us stay well stocked for customers, young fella. You know he's just giving all of us a hard time because he likes it here, Bulma. Just call us beforehand and we'll be prepared with enough food if you want to stop by. Any friend of the Briefs is one of ours."   
  
Despite his deadly serious expression, Vegeta obviously enjoyed pushing Bulma's buttons, Millie thought, though he seemed much rougher around the edges than Yamcha. Her husband used to be like that in some ways, until Millie _broke him_ like a boiled chicken bone before they married -- a great memory. Maybe Bulma would do the same with this peculiar newcomer.  
  
"I'm sorry about Vegeta's big mouth, you two," Bulma replied. "Sometimes his jokes fall flat. It's clear that he enjoyed your excellent culinary skills and hospitality."  
  
Before Vegeta respond, Bulma kicked him underneath the table to stay quiet. His eyes tightened, expressing offense over _anyone_ speaking on his behalf. Those same eyes unlocked like a burglarized door as a soft touch brushed over his dick. His steely jaw took a slow roll left. Bulma had declared war on his mouthiness by kneading his testicles between her nimble, sexually gifted fingers. How in the hell could he hide his hard dick before leaving this place? His thoughts swayed between embarrassment and a barely restrained thirst to tear her clothes off again. His half-cough revealed to Bulma that she had him right where she wanted. His Adam's apple bobbed as the cough grew louder.  
  
"Would you like some more water?" Bert asked, appearing concerned.  
  
"No," Vegeta said, grasping Bulma's happy fingers like pair of pliers. "As she said, I…am...am satisfied, and I won't forget about your offer to return."  
  
"Millie, we're going into the back room to chat and play a few games," Bulma said, smiling. "Vegeta and I are working on a project together, and yesterday was rough. If anyone comes looking for me, I don't want to be disturbed -- under no uncertain terms.  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Millie said, grabbing her suspicious husband's arm to leave. "No calls. No intrusions."  
  
Bulma smiled at Vegeta, whispering, "You liked that, didn't you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Liar."  
  
"That is not a lie. You would have humiliated yourself and me if --"  
  
"If what, Vegeta? If you had a silent orgasm after a healthy breakfast? I'd say that's great way to start a busy day."  
  
Bulma almost laughed in his face at her own audacity. "Silent orgasm" had to be the most bullshit oxymoron ever to leave her mouth.   
  
"How about this, vulgar woman? I _will not_ let you trap me in whatever torture dungeon you've created back there. This quaint food cabin is obviously a front for your degenerate activities. I am already well behind my training schedule anyway."   
  
"Vulgar my ass." Bulma pushed away from the table, pressing her finger on the tip of his dick. The cloth covering it had an enticing wet spot. "You didn't seem to have a problem with it last night."  
  
"Hn. You certainly didn't either, and while I enjoyed the run-up to our rendezvous, you were also particularly giddy -- and how did you release yourself from that suspension bar?"  
  
"So many questions -- also, you knew I wasn't drunk, so it's silly for you to imply it."  
  
Bulma's eyelid twitched ever so slightly, drawing closer attention from him. Normally Vegeta wouldn't squint to give away his thoughts, but this wasn't exactly for his benefit. Perhaps she needed a confession. "Why not help her?" the devil inside of him said.  
  
Bulma unconsciously touched her neck, confirming his suspicion. "Why are you looking at me like that?"  
  
"You… realize that I spent the first third of my life learning how to interpret body language."  
  
"Of potential _enemies_ , Vegeta, so you wouldn't be killed and chopped up like a steak," Bulma groaned, leaving her chair. "I'm not your enemy. I never really was."  
  
Vegeta folded up his soiled napkin, placing it neatly on the table. "You have a highly selective memory and are stretching the boundaries of my skepticism. I wasn't exactly friendly when I arrived here."  
  
"That's right," Bulma replied. "You made _yourself_ the enemy to everyone around you."   
  
"No matter." Vegeta's eyes glazed darkly, emitting a palpable chill. "So you’re suddenly judging me from a standard that never _will_ apply to someone _like_ me -- not with the life I have lived -- or my history. I can assure you that your _beloved_ Kakarot would've been different had he been raised on my planet."  
  
"Maybe." Bulma refused to back down entirely, though she wasn't in the mood for a row. "Maybe not. Goku was sent here to crush Earth all life here anyway, according to you, so I'm not sure how much 'raising' would've happened. Regardless, we aren't psychics. In any case, you should return to training. I need a few more days to tinker with the new chamber, as you know. Then it's all yours. I'll remove the old one from our property soon. See you later."  
  
"You never answered my questions," Vegeta said. "Next time, try harder to make me forget."  
  
"I'm only human, remember? See you later." Turning her back on him, Bulma entered short hallway leading to her eccentric playroom. Her hand dragged across a button, releasing a sound blocker to mask noise both inside and outside of the space.   
  
As soon as the first curtain descended over the entryway, Vegeta had her body pressed against the door, inhaling the perfume on her upper chest. She exhaled as his soft tongue traced along the base of her neck. Blood pulsing through the artery on the side made him hungrier. He wanted her naked and free. They backed into the room, slamming the door as they dragged each other's clothing off. Vegeta pushed up Bulma's skirt, holding the back of her neck as his hand penetrated her. She mewled as his fingers pressed up, causing the smooth muscles around her clitoris to tighten. Her hands dug into his tanned, flexing biceps.  
  
"Did you actually think I'd let you get away with that little stunt of yours out there?" he hissed. "Oh no, no, no, _Dr. Brief_. You don't deserve that privilege."   
  
Bulma's lower back curved into the cradle of his palm, submitting to his will. She pulled his disorderly madman's hair in all directions as they kissed. A hypnotic haze crossed over their eyes. Vegeta's arm accidentally landed on an old remote on the bar, activating an antique stereo that -- of all things -- played classical music. His eyes shifted to Bulma's. She usually preferred so-called "rock" music that he hated.  
  
She shrugged, giggling at his curiosity. "What can I say, man? I'm full of surprises."   
  
"Stop distracting me," he growled, trying not to succumb to her laughter. "Do want to continue this or not?"  
  
At that moment Chopin's Waltz No. 7 in C Sharp Minor flowed from the speakers. Bulma's lips returned to his, kissing with the feathery lightness that followed along with the piano ballad's opening. As the melody took on a faster pace, Vegeta spun her around, raising her legs between both arms. Her back rested on the padded cloth wall as his eager and extremely hard dick edged its way inside.  
  
Bulma's eyes swung backward as she and Vegeta both gasped. Her mind was a jumble of eighth and quarter notes as he rode her, rocking their sweaty bodies up… and up… and up….  
  


* * *

  
  
"I have…to go now."  
  
"You should. It's OK. The morning is almost gone."  
  
"I _know_ it is OK, Bulma. I have free will."  
  
"So…what you're saying is you don't want to leave, Vegeta?"  
  
He kissed her, nuzzling his head on her neck. _Everything_ about her was the like honey -- lips, eyes, breasts, backside, and, most of all, her gifted mind. His thoughts also intrusively reminded about sugar's addictiveness, leading to weight gain. What kind of weight would this become for him -- and for her? It would be beneath him to blame her for walking headfirst into this. After all, Bulma said they could end their affair at any time if the lines blurred too much -- and it had only just begun. His finger lightly tapped the tiny dimple on Bulma's chin as they stared into each other's eyes.  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you ---"  
  
"Not put words in your mouth?" Bulma interrupted, kissing his knuckle. "Yes, I know what my sin is."  
  
Vegeta picked up his runner's jacket, checking both inside pockets. "And yet you continue to do it, but I suppose there are worse transgressions."  
  
"Looking for something? Did you lose your access key to the chamber?"  
  
He threw the jacket over his shoulder. "I won't be at dinner -- and tomorrow will be the first day of you not wearing the chest harness, by my command."  
  
"Um, you might want to leave from the back," Bulma replied. "You body looks like it needs ironing. Oh, and remember, you can't touch me if I don't wear my bra."  
  
"I'll _leave_ the same way I came in, woman, and there's nothing wrong with building resistance to temptation."  
  
She hung back, watching him leave. He looked so cocksure, strutting out with his head high, but those eyes of his. Their stoniness could be impenetrable at times, yet they could also show vulnerability that Vegeta believed no one else would notice or fully care about. Others had seen him at his most broken -- in tears and gasping for life, with blood gushing from his chest -- and they cared, but none of that changed this view of himself. Not even with Bulma. Not completely.   
  
In this moment, Bulma almost felt regret because Vegeta's mien briefly revealed more than loneliness. He wasn't the only one who could read body language.  
He _yearned_ for a connection, and she had pried that door open and, possibly with more effort, could break off the hinges. She trusted that she could, in fact, walk away when ready. Even if their "no strings" affair continued for a long time, Vegeta would still follow her lead if she wanted, respecting her wishes to end physical and closer emotional contact, but where would that leave him?  
  
I _'m not giving him or myself enough credit,_ she thought. _We're adults. We don't owe each other anything except for enough honesty to know when to say stop._  
  
A craving for orange juice led her to the back of the bar to find some, but something else attracted her attention -- her little a jeweled box, accompanied by a note: _This substance inside of this box, whatever it is, was none of my business when we weren't involved, but it is my business now that we are. -- Vegeta.  
  
_ _Shit_. Bulma bit down on an already heavily chewed pencil. _Does he think I'm doing lines of cocaine or something? Does he even know what that is?_ True, her little box of kinky heaven delivered an awesome high, but only for the remarkable orgasms and sexual freedom she knew she deserved. She and Vegeta already proved their exceptional abilities to act on their smoldering desire for each other. Why not step it up? _  
  
No, not yet.  
  
_ She activated the closed-circuit cameras, wondering if he was standing in the corridor.  
  
He wasn't.   
  


* * *

  
Panchy tossed a fluorescent yellow tennis ball over her head, reaching up for a perfect serve that a squatting Bulma returned with competitive ferocity. Bulma hadn't played in decades, having mastered it by age six. Flying planes interested her more back then anyway. But here she was, making an impressive show of it. Panchy loved every minute, even when her daughter almost won, but Bulma lost. A little robot zoomed in front, opening it refrigerated cooler with water and lemonade.  
  
"Dear, it's been almost two months, and you're staying in the city overnight a lot lately. That's fine, I suppose, but is everything OK?"  
  
"Maybe I'm spending more there because the bulk of _my work_ happens at the West City complex, mom," Bulma said with the blandness of a wet dishrag. "You act like dad isn't there a lot either."  
  
"Yes, and he comes home -- most of the time -- when he's not at your penthouse. I hope your father-daughter time has been rewarding."  
  
Bulma dragged a face towel across her forehead, taking Panchy's hand. "Are you feeling lonely? I can kick dad out more if that will help."  
  
"No, dear. he's fine right where he is for now. I have my horses and endless card games with my friends. We buy good alcohol, although I can't drink like I used to."  
  
"You definitely keep everyone on their toes," Bulma replied, laughing loudly. "That's for sure."  
  
"Actually, I have something to discuss with you privately. Let's go in sauna."  
  
"Honey, I need to get back to work -- and there's no one around. Why can't we talk out here?"  
  
"Oh, come on!" Panchy exclaimed. "You love the sauna. I won't make it too hot."  
  
Fifteen minutes later, the women were wrapped in towels, relaxing against on musky cedar walls. Bulma's feet propped up on a plank as Panchy's eyes closed.  
  
"So what is it, mom?"  
  
"Vegeta."  
  
Bulma kept her voice steady. No high pitches or deep plateaus. "What about him?"  
  
"I never see him."  
  
"Well it's not like he's the life of the party around here."  
  
"I'm serious, Bulma! He only goes between training and eating privately, period. He does use our audio book library more often, but his kitchen visits are solely for capsulized meals, not my freshly made ones. I leave portions for him to see how much he'll eat. I wonder if he misses you having you around to irritate. You all were talking more often for a while."  
  
"He's fine, mom. The new training chamber is like a children's amusement park for him. I check on the machinery from a distance. If he needs anything from me, he has access to my lab in the city."  
  
"Has he been there lately, Bulma?"  
  
"Mom! _Leave Vegeta alone_. It sounds like you miss him being around more than I do."  
  
Panchy eyeballed her daughter for any signs of nervousness. Bulma's responses and deflections were too calm -- restrained, even.  
  
"You slept with him, didn't you?"  
  
"I can't believe this!" Bulma shook her head, grumbling. "Actually, yes! Yes, I can believe you would ask! Hand me my damned slippers. I have to get back to work."   
  
"What are you afraid of, Bulma? It's perfectly fine."  
  
"I never asked _for your permission_ about _anything_ related to my sex life," Bulma shot back angrily, "so just back off, mom."  
  
"Because after I explained how special sex was when you were a young girl, I gave you space to make your own decisions, even when they weren't always the best."  
  
Bulma removed a towel on her head. "You _will not_ bait me into asking whether Vegeta is one of my _better_ decisions. I'm aware that everyone else in my life would be mortified if they knew."  
  
"Does Launch know?"  
  
"We're not on speaking terms, and why in the hell are you asking about her anyway? She crossed a line that shouldn't have happened. I don't intend to discuss it with you or anyone else." Bulma bristled thinking about their last argument. She needed to apologize for punching Launch, but beyond that, their friendship was on hold indefinitely.  
  
Panchy unhurriedly followed her into the dressing room. "It's interesting. Jealousy can show up when you least expect it, even from the most unlikely sources."  
  
"Gotta go now." Bulma kissed her on both cheeks. "Enjoyed the tennis game, Panchy. Let's do this again soon -- on the condition that you'll ask fewer questions."  
  
"Bye, dear. I can't make a promise like that either. Just be careful."  
  
Bulma's stomach tossed thinking about how much free time her mother may have spent cataloging years of suitors, potential or actual -- male and female. Did Panchy wonder if Launch may have "a thing" for her? Gods help her if her mother figured that out. That stopped Bulma's roiling thoughts. It may not have been malicious, but her friend played with her mind unnecessarily when she was vulnerable. That's all that mattered.  
  
She ran to the helicopter pad, removing a capsule from her pocket. The jog around the aircraft came next for a quick inspection. A man's blurry reflection wobbled over the metal behind her. Her shoulders tensed, but she continued checking the copter's condition.   
  
"What are you doing here?" she asked tersely. "How did you get in?"  
  
"Don't blame Panchy," Yamcha said. "She doesn't know. You act like people aren't familiar with me around here. We were together for a while. Also, you never gave staff an edict to keep me out."  
  
"I never banned you from visiting Capsule's main campus here. It's a business after all, but you should have enough respect not to come around my home for a while, especially uninvited. With all of the stressful situations we've been in over the years, how do I know you haven't gone off the deep end?"  
  
"You know I would never hurt you, B."  
  
"Come again?" Bulma asked incredulously. "You broke my heart, and now it appears you're breaking your own. I can't help you with that. I won't help you."  
  
"And you think that pint-sized freak with the wasp's nest up his ass can?!" Yamcha yelled. "How can you prostitute yourself out like this to someone like him?!"  
  
"Prostitute myself?!" Before she could stop herself, Bulma slapped Yamcha, hollering at the top of her lungs. "You calling me a whore on my property? Get the fuck out of here and never come back! I thought we ended our relationship amicably, but I see now that you only care about ownership over me."  
  
"You know I could have caught your arm before impact," Yamcha replied, rubbing his face. "Maybe I deserved it in some way. I think you get what I mean here. I'm not calling you a whore."  
  
"That's sure what it sounds like to me, asshole!"  
  
"B., you're using Vegeta to boost your ego as much as he's ruthlessly using you to achieve his goals. He's said as much. Do you really think that's a good thing?"  
  
"First, keep in mind that we're all _still alive_ , and not once has Vegeta tried to harm anyone maliciously since he came to live with me."  
  
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Yamcha's mouth dropped open. "I don't even know what to say to that."  
  
"How about nothing?!" Bulma snarled. "You have a minute before guards throw you out of here."  
  
"He _came after me_ at the Sugar Shack on the same day we ended our relationship, Bulma."  
  
"And you were with a girl, weren't you?"  
  
"Why does it matter?!" Yamcha barked. "This is _what he does_ when he doesn't get his way. He did it on a grand scale with all of us, remember?"  
  
"All of this is none of your business." Bulma flung the copter's door open, strapping herself in. "I think you should reclaim your dignity."  
  
"Maybe you should follow your own advice, babe."  
  
Yamcha held up a video recording of his altercation with Vegeta. Bulma watched as he taunted Yamcha and, in her mind, spoke as if he owned her too. But Vegeta also told hard truths about their interactions -- ones they had discussed themselves -- and complimented her. Still, he had no right to torment her ex-boyfriend just because he could. Yamcha had never physically harmed or attempted to break her spirit when they were together.   
  
"I've heard enough," she said tiredly. "Don't come back."   
  
Yamcha watched her depart, shoving his hands into his pockets as he rose up to fly. "You could have interrupted, Vegeta," he said quietly, "since you spiked your ki to warn me of your almighty presence."  
  
"You heard her," Vegeta replied, emerging from the shadows. " _Leave_. You and I have both died at least once. I would say we're even -- for now."  
  
"Don't worry either," Yamcha said as he flew off. "Your erotic secret is safe with me, your highness. She doesn't need any more lectures from anyone else, I guess. "  
  
At first Vegeta wondered if the man was suicidal, lobbing those worthless taunts at him. After a shrug, his jawline relaxed, revealing the thinnest of smiles.  
  
"What… a pity, squandering his energy like this."   
  
Now he had to find Bulma, especially since the copter had not taken off in the direction of downtown West City -- something Yamcha didn't notice, apparently. She was upset, and after not seeing each other for weeks on purpose, he couldn't afford an unnecessary quarrel about something so trivial.  
  
Then his smartwatch vibrated with a text message: _Don't even think about trying to find me, jackass. I know you were there and heard every word. -- B.  
  
_ Vegeta sighed, tossing his towel around his neck. "Damn it."   
  


* * *

**A/N - Thanks if you're still reading. I had to switch things up a bit to continue with this one. Hope you liked the chapter. Hit me up with questions or comments if there's anything you're particularly interested in. I'll try to give you a straight answer. 😁**


	8. The Show Must Go On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from last chapter: Bulma left home upset after finding out about Yamcha and Vegeta's confrontation. Before that, more intimacies were revealed between the lovers during a steamy sexual escapade.

Vegeta could still chase Bulma down at this point because of his superior flying skills, but he still needed her direction. Capsule Corporation copters left no exhaust cloud trails, were extremely fast, and had short-term cloaking ability, which was rarely used. Also, Bulma's ki was imperceptible like most humans who weren't skilled fighters or had other special powers. Still, Vegeta felt assured about finding her. Beyond that, he needed time to dress appropriately and consider what to say. Normally, if this were anyone else -- even among those he halfway liked, who existed on a _very_ short list -- he would let the person lick their mental wounds and then mercilessly give them hell about it. Depending who it was, punches might come soon after -- or much worse, though he usually saved that for major infractions.   
  
His patience for too much whining was ten steps below zero. Threats of being tortured, murdered, assaulted, sadistically abused, and humiliated in front of one's peers ranked higher on a horrific inventory of legitimate grievances. Smoldering anger over not being Super Saiyan or Goku's equal didn't count as whining for him, despite others' judgment. Power still meant something. Fuck them.   
  
With each passing day, Bulma proved in her own way that she understood _enough_ of his motivations. Maybe she believed he really wouldn't hurt Goku. On that he could understand Yamcha's disbelief, but he didn't get why she would be so upset about much else -- well, except for the prostitute part. He casually sauntered inside the of carriage house, where he slept sometimes, having second thoughts about finding Bulma. Better to let her cool off, he thought. An afternoon nap was more appealing.  
  
Within four hours, the video display in the living room rang loud enough to wake the dead, flashing fire-engine red. Vegeta quickly pulled his shirt back on as Dr. Brief's grim image appeared onscreen. Vegeta frowned watching the old man forcefully smash a cigarette into an ashtray.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Bulma is in danger. You can arrive first before anyone else, I'm sure, but you must leave now. Use the microphone in the drawer next to you. I'll guide you."  
  
Dr. Brief showed an almost preternatural calmness given the situation's seriousness. He lived his life this way to be prepared for just about anything as a scientist -- a characteristic everyone highly respected.  
  
Vegeta threw on a jacket, pushing the earpiece in as soon as his feet left ground. "I’m fine. Just tell me the direction. Sensing her outright will be difficult."  
  
"Due north, toward the Nokuya coastal mountain formation," Dr. Brief replied. "The copter… is already going down. I'm sending reinforcements."  
  
Vegeta didn't have time to consider or ask who these reinforcements were. If Bulma were injured, he swore that he would keep her alive. Others could take a back seat.  
  
"I know where you're speaking of. It won't take me long to arrive. Do you have a tool to explain what happened quickly? I can understand accelerated speech."  
  
Dr. Brief played a recording about the copter's condition and what likely happened before it went down.  
  
 _"The Nokuya mountain range spans four sections. Aircraft number 4385, 'The Ultimate Breeze,' went down in subrange Arma near the Unci canal, coordinates_ _58°55.4′N_ _135°5.65′W_ _. Temperature is eight degrees Celsius, with light precipitation. Pilot is unconscious but not severely injured or losing blood, according to vital-sign monitor. Gearbox malfunction led to accident. Crash site doesn't indicate significant exterior damage due to aircraft's design. Residual vapor filled flight-control area and in the rear prior to copter's descent. Vapor can cause unconsciousness that could last several days or more if persons within close proximity are exposed for two hours or beyond. Exposed persons are in no immediate danger from hypoxia, brain damage or other bodily deterioration because of the vapor's chemical structure. Temperature exposure is a main threat if pilot leaves aircraft, lands in water, or has been ejected without proper protective clothing, followed by any other injuries that could be sustained from accident."_

Vegeta's mouth clamped shut to avoid shouting every obscenity he knew. Bulma wasn't dressed appropriately before leaving for a location such as this, from what he saw. Was the route even on her original flight path, or did she decide to detour on a whim? Why would she head in this direction, perhaps knowing specifically about the weather problems? Why choose this less-advanced travel method anyway?  
  
Why didn't he say _anything_ before she left?  
  
 _She is no stranger to hazards_ , he thought. _I am overreacting -- and she would say so, as I have done with her about myself._

"In these weather conditions, it would take at least two hours to die from hypothermia," Dr. Brief continued, "but my daughter has been flying since childhood. Her experience, as you know --"  
  
"She's still inside the machine, yes?" Vegeta interrupted.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"It the cabin's temperature still temperate?"  
  
"For now, because of how she crashed. It's not immersed in water. Thank goodness."  
  
Thanking this so-called "goodness" or anything else was premature, Vegeta thought. He knew how to fly too. Death can be swift and unforgiving for the unprotected.

* * *

  
  
Bulma put the helicopter on short-term autopilot to check on other matters. The chopper -- which was considered state of the art -- was larger than others and could fly faster, but not many were made. She also hadn't overseen engineers' entire design-and-build process, though no product left Capsule Corporation without extensive testing.  
  
She didn't worry much about being located because everyone who needed to know could track her coordinates, including her dad. But her smarts didn't always prevent her from being absent-minded like anyone else. Yamcha arrived at the tail-end of her aircraft inspection. She had been in myriad stressful situations -- being close to death more times than most normal persons would prefer -- but for some reason this particular altercation threw her off balance. Perhaps it was Vegeta being there. She really didn’t expect or want him to step in again, given the nature of their relationship. He already fought a "battle" with someone she loved. That should be the end of it. Wasn't he the one who said that she had to handle unfinished business in other relationships? He didn't press her about Launch, but he definitely saw what she refused to fully acknowledge at first. Of course, Launch did the same with her about him.   
  
"Enough, Bulma. Just stop thinking about it. You have a project to handle." She only needed a few more minutes before returning to the cockpit. "You know better to leave this baby on autopilot too long."  
  
The copter jerked, causing her knees to spread apart. Another jolt threw her backward, followed by a high-pitched whining noise. She knew immediately that the gearbox was failing.   
  
"What the hell is this? This isn’t supposed to happen. Backup support engage now!"  
  
Bulma tried scrambling to the cockpit, but the copter bounced, leaning sideways, causing her head to hit something unknown. The backup mechanism for landing didn't follow her command. Misty fumes quickly filled the cabin, with oxygen masks dropping soon after. Dizziness set in as she coughed and wheezed violently. Her delirium kept telling her to find tools -- as if they could help. Then she passed out, face down, as the chopper descended.  
  
Vegeta hit the ground separating vegetation with his powers. Steam blew on each side. He sized up every position of the crash site before finding the right place to open without hurting Bulma. He used the part he ripped open to cover them both, checking for any injuries that weren't identified. Seeing her with a helmet and coveralls on put him more at ease, but her eyes didn't open.  
  
"Open your eyes for me, woman. You did something extremely stupid."  
  
"Mmm…sleepy."  
  
"I don't care. Stay awake to yell at me, just for a little while. I…I…" Vegeta exhaled, shaking off mixed feelings that had no name. He touched his earpiece, paging Dr. Brief.  
  
"Do you think she has a concussion, Vegeta?"  
  
"Maybe. There's a bruise on her head. She'll need sleep later, but I want to keep her somewhat awake now. I'm sharing some of my power with her, in case she's in pain."  
  
"You can do that?"  
  
"It's taking the reinforcements too long. I want to bring her back now. No major bones are broken from what I can tell. She doesn't wince and can move moderately."  
  
"Major bones?"  
  
Vegeta's teeth gritted. "Just _let_ me do this, OK? You asked me to get here. I have _enough_ life experience with _being injured_ to know what to do in the short term."  
  
Dr. Brief held his tongue on that declaration. Vegeta may have been correct about the last part, the older man thought, but that didn't exactly mean that the prince had gained much wisdom from it.  
  
Bulma's eyes still didn't open, but hearing Vegeta's brusque voice was enough. "Who…are…you being mean to?"  
  
Vegeta sighed, placing his earpiece next to her. Dr. Brief put down his cigarette to listen closely.   
  
"Hello, sweetheart. It's dad. You got a little banged up, but we're going to get you back home safely. Are you in pain?"  
  
Bulma's vision finally came into focus. "Just kind of out of it, dad. I'm OK. Really sleepy."  
  
"We have to get you on the plane your father sent," Vegeta said." It's still airborne, so I am putting you to one of those carry-on boards."  
  
Bulma smiled. "A stretcher?"  
  
"Well excuse the hell out of me for not knowing every human colloquialism," Vegeta groused under his breath. "Just because we all share the same language universally doesn't mean there aren't differences --"  
  
"Shut up, Vegeta, and _strap me_ to the damned board."  
  
Dr. Brief lit another cigarette, laughing. "Now, now, young lady. Save the arguing for later. Sounds like you'll be just fine, though."

* * *

  
"What were you doing out there, Bulma? Your dad is being kind of tight-lipped about it."  
  
"That's because we haven't discussed it, Krillin."  
  
"Really?" Krillin moved his chair closer, watching Bulma adjust herself on a sofa. He gestured for her to cover herself more with the blanket he brought. "It's not like either of you not to talk stuff over."  
  
Bulma patted his leg. "It's OK, buddy. There's only so much fretting one can do in a lifetime, given our extraordinary knack for attracting unwanted attention from freaks -- or being in injurious situations."  
  
"That's for sure," Krillin laughed. "No doubt right there. Speaking of freaks, where is Vegeta?"  
  
"Don't call him that," Bulma scolded. "It's too harsh. He's accepted being called a jerk, but only by me."  
  
"Harsh?" Krillin snorted. "Are you kidding me? It almost sounds like you have a crush on him."  
  
"You have a soft spot for him too," Bulma teased. "Don't you?"  
  
"Ewww. You're making me gag over here. I almost successfully killed him, remember? If Goku hadn't stopped me, we wouldn't even be discussing this."  
  
"No, we wouldn't, but Goku has a way of convincing people to do just about anything."  
  
They held hands, silently looking at a picture of the three of them -- all smiles and all very young. Bulma dabbed her eyes with a tissue.  
  
"I miss Goku too, Krillin. I'm not betraying anyone by having Vegeta here. The longer he's stayed here --"  
  
"So is that why you have been incognito? Look, I'm not judging you. What you and your parents have done is generous. I mean, you looked really bold on the day I saw you invite Vegeta to stay, but it was extremely brave. I feel sorry for the guy... in a way."  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"Yeah. He's all alone. His anger isn't just turned outward, but inward too. That must be beyond hellish -- and maybe even scary when he's by himself, though he mostly stays away from people. I can see why. You, Goku, and I always had each other. We've had some interesting adventures together."  
  
"We certainly have."  
  
Krillin kissed the back of Bulma's hand, making her giggle. "I have to go now, my friend. Get some more rest. I heard that the gas in that helicopter -- or whatever it was -- could do a number on you."  
  
"Don't always believe what you hear," Bulma shouted. She laughed at Krillin's choice to leave through a window instead of the door next to it. "Bye, baldy! You're showing off!"  
  
"I am!" Krillin shouted, waving happily. He took off flying, blowing another kiss. "I can be a flirt too! You just never paid attention! I love you!"  
  
"I love you too," she said softly. "Very much."  
  
Bulma sniffled, feeling more emotional. She and Krillin covered so much ground as they talked, especially about Goku. Of the three friends, Krillin showed empathy in so many incredible ways. Meanwhile, Vegeta had largely retreated to the background while Panchy fussed over her. She figured that he would. Privacy was his modus operandi. Being around her too much would only bring more attention, and yet Vegeta believed Yamcha would keep their secret. What kind of ex-boyfriend wants others to find out something that humiliating?  
  
Bulma did, in fact, have a minor concussion. Her helmet probably could have been more protective. She promised her dad to remember next time. She had taken an impulsive detour, intending to do some seismological exploration. Fearing for their jobs, every Capsule Corporation engineer who worked on the copter scrambled like mice to find the source of machine's horrific malfunction.   
  
Bulma continued to cry, facing the sofa's interior. So much had happened over the past ten years -- good and bad -- and she kept going and going and going.  
  
"Miss me?" a strangely hesitant voice said. Vegeta pushed the door open, peering inside as Bulma rushed to wipe her face.  
  
  
"Maybe it's other way around, Vegeta." He wouldn't understand any of this behavior, she thought. Some situations were still too foreign to him. "We're still each other's meal ticket, remember? I'm OK."  
  
Vegeta considered whether to ask another question. He didn't want to appear overly worried. She might become angry from being questioned. _No! That is an unacceptable excuse. The prince of all Saiyans wouldn't allow a mere question to intimidate him! Absolutely not!_  
  
After this two-second war with himself, he stared at Bulma's slippers to choke the words out. "Then… why are you crying?"  
  
"It's better than taking a construction wrecking ball to the house."  
  
"OK, fine." Vegeta knew he couldn’t go further without becoming angry. "I'm leaving."  
  
"Wait." Bulma waved him over, exhaling. "Don't go. I'm…sorry. I guess I feel embarrassed about how all this went down, literally, with the copter. I know I said thank you earlier, but I do really mean it. Please don't doubt that. How are you?"  
  
"We don't have to make small talk, Bulma, which you know I hate. I came here and it appears you're faring well. I'll return to what I was doing before."  
  
Bulma pointed at the chair. "Come here, Vegeta."

"What?"  
  
"So suddenly you're deaf now? C-o-m-e here."  
  
"For what?" Vegeta appeared guarded, as if Bulma would either try to smack him or trick him into performing an annoying task. "And where do you get off ordering me to do anything, especially with the attitude I'm getting now?"  
  
"You have some nerve to say _anything_ about attitude," she quipped. "I could open a dictionary and find your photo next to the word."  
  
"That's it!" Vegeta huffed, turning on his heels to storm out of the room. "I'm done."  
  
Bulma laughed. "It's too easy to get a rise out of you today. Are you feeling all right? I was hoping for a more creative insult. Look, just pour some water from that pitcher over there. I'm thirsty."  
  
"Fine. Don't ask me for anything else." Didn't take much to stop him. Just who was in charge here? Wasn't he?  
  
"I can't promise you that."  
  
Vegeta bent down, handing over the glass. "Maybe you should be embarrassed about what happened -- and then not give a damn about anyone judging you anymore. Haven't you learned anything from me?"  
  
"If I have, I'm not stupid enough to admit it to you."  
  
"Hn. I see."   
  
Vegeta's hand swept slowly over Bulma's cheek. If only others knew how much gentleness his fearsome hands were capable of, she thought. He would be unwilling to admit it.  
  
Every kiss has a unique personality.  
  
Theirs did.  
  
Relief, care, and even the blossoming of a far-fetched, unexpected friendship blended the moment their lips joined. Love was improbable and extremely impractical. Nothing could be done about that. So much was broken in Vegeta that it couldn't be discussed.  
  
At the very least, for the time being, they had something.   
  
"I have to go now."  
  
"I know you do." Bulma touched his chin, nodding in agreement. "You should. I understand."  
  
Vegeta returned to training center, crossing his arms in an "X" over his chest. Laser rays raced overhead. Flaming ki beams from his palms hit every simulated target as he back-flipped through the fusillade.  
  
Though she still felt fuzzy, Bulma opened her laptop to review a couple sketches. A new message popped up, which was annoyingly written in all capital letters. The missive reminded her of an apology she hadn't made.  
  
The show must go on, she thought.

* * *

  
A/N: Those coordinates are real. Check out the actual location, [Alaska's Kakuhan Range](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kakuhan_Range), for fun. (Everything else about the area I made up.) Yay, Earth! **🙂**  
  



	9. Pure Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from last chapter: Bulma survives an almost-deadly helicopter crash, with Vegeta rushing by her side. Later, they reflect on the nature of their interactions, which also reminds them of other priorities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I don't kiss and tell as I write. Interpret this statement however you want, and share your thoughts. 😏

Bulma entered a quaint flower and plant shop carrying a shopping bag and thinking. Another month had passed as she and Vegeta continued seeing each other -- or not -- to engage in their erotic adventures, or just share their respective beds. The sex never stopped being amazing, but Vegeta's restlessness was coming to the fore, which Bulma felt. He didn't intend to make Earth his, but now it appeared that way. He had no friends other than Bulma -- though her parents accepted him as "a family member in progress." Interestingly enough, Goku's son Gohan found ways to visit the Briefs. He'd offer a polite hello when Vegeta showed up on the premises, sometimes following with kind word or two. Even Bulma felt amazed by this, considering the boy was well within his right to dislike Vegeta considerably.   
  
Then again, she was too.  
  
Vegeta grunted garbled, grouchy hellos at first, hoping to distance himself and his festering ego from the son of the man who stoked his fury and jealousy. He bore no ill-will toward the boy, at least for now. He saw Gohan's potential in a way that even Piccolo didn't, he believed. If his own pride hadn't been an obstacle, he probably would've tried to teach the boy more, but on his own exacting terms as a hardened Saiyan fighter.  
  
"Is Bulma around, sir?"  
  
"Why are you asking me?" Vegeta asked crossly. "I'm sure any one of her annoying hangers-on can find her -- or her parents."  
  
"OK. Thanks."  
  
Vegeta moved by him, elbowing Gohan's shoulder almost hard enough to dislocate it. "You didn't give up so easily when I kicked your ass, boy. Actually, didn't I do it _more than_ once?"  
  
Gohan shot a hardened stare at him, and then smirked. "I heard you were blinded in one eye and then, when I turned into that great ape, got laid flat under my body like a pancake. _Wish I could remember it_."  
  
Vegeta face reflected both menace and amusement. "Maybe you will one day, unless I ---."  
  
"Why do you hate my father and not me?" Gohan asked point blank. "But really, even after everything that happened, I'm having hard time believing that you actually do."  
  
Vegeta burned on the inside for being challenged like this -- from Goku's son no less -- but the boy had the balls to ask a legit question, so he'd get an answer.  
  
"Maybe ask yourself _instead_ what the benefit is of being strong without making the most of it, or appreciating it for what it _truly_ is. Your big green friend Piccolo, I'm sure, is most familiar with that. Put aside of what you think of me -- though I don't really care -- and consider the cruelty and destruction you've seen already. Hatred comes in many forms, in the ugliest ways, which outmatch my own. Now leave me alone before you get another gut punch."  
  
"But --"  
  
Both Vegeta and Gohan shared quick glances as Panchy jogged toward them.  
  
"Oh, I see you're together!" she shouted eagerly. "Wonderful! Maybe you both can help me with something!"  
  
"What are you waiting for?" Vegeta slapped the back of Gohan's head. "Get going, boy!"  
  
"Gone!"  
  
They flew in opposite directions. Panchy stamped on the ground, cursing a blue streak. "You'll both pay for this!"  
  
Bulma grinned thinking about her mother's dramatic account by phone about the "great escape." She wandered her way through to a spacious plant nursery in the back of the shop. A blonde-haired woman with a semiautomatic handgun strapped to her hip swept the floor. She swung the broom with tense, swift whacks, stopping when Bulma dropped her bag next to a long row of yellow marigolds.  
  
"Well, well, look who we have _here,_ " Launch said with an acidic drawl. "It's the lady of Capsule manor! How art thou, o queen of the closed fist? Glad I'm strapped with my weaponry today."

"Oh stop it," Bulma said. "I come in peace. By the way, the shop looks absolutely gorgeous. You should move closer into the city. The employees appear happy too."  
  
"For what, Bulma? Customers who want what I have make the effort. Now what are you doing here?"  
  
"To apologize. I hope that what happened that day didn't drive you to ---"  
  
"Switch personalities? Don't flatter yourself, wench. As you said, I used this persona to be more assertive. I also like how blonde looks on me. The blue-haired Launch has always been present."  
  
Bulma's lips pursed. "Don't get all high and mighty on me. You've been 'assertive' for a long, long time. I shouldn't have punched you, but you weren't without fault -- not one iota."  
  
"Excuse me?" Launch dropped the broom, strolling over. "You enjoyed my _generous_ attention until catching Vegeta fever. I was all for you bonking him at first, but I didn't expect to be discarded so callously for you to feel better about seducing someone who would likely destroy your feelings worse than Yamcha ever could!"  
  
"And you got your jollies from the run up!" Bulma shouted. "You are my friend -- or at least I thought you were. That wasn't a game! Remember what you said?"  
  
Launch grabbed a spade, churning dirt in a flower box. "Oh give it a rest."  
  
"No!" Bulma roared. "You _knew_ what I was going through mentally! You said Vegeta was 'nowhere near prepared to provide what you need sexually or otherwise.' For you to cackle _in my face_ about him possibly rejecting me -- well, how would you feel? There you were, stripping off my clothes and kissing me, and then that shit fell out of your mouth -- callously. You played with my mind. It was humiliating."  
  
"You could have politely asked me to leave before almost breaking my jaw!" Launch hissed, jamming the spade in the dirt. "I see that I also _was_ correct about Vegeta rejecting you."  
  
Both women were crying by this time. Launch covered her face, bending over.  
  
"I shouldn't have come here," Bulma said sadly. "I thought we could make amends. You have the nerve to criticize others for being self-centered but can't see the same thing about yourself."  
  
"I'm sorry, Bulma. I really didn't mean to hurt you. I said that at the time."  
  
"Doesn't seem like it to me, judging from what I just heard. It was defiant and mean."

Launch unlocked shelf on the wall in front of her office, removing a bottle of expensive gin and two glasses. "Even now, you don’t understand."  
  
"What the fuck don't I understand? Count me out if you plan to wallow in self-pity."  
  
Launch poured gin for them both. "You're still here, aren't you? So just listen."  
  
Bulma frowned, taking the glass. "Where's the ice?  
  
"The ice bucket behind me here."  
  
"So what is it, Launch? I have to leave soon."  
  
"I guess I started to feel threatened, Bulma. I loved seeing you wide-open sexually. I am responsible for letting that genie out of the bottle. I played a role and felt proud of it. Having your close attention when no one else did felt great. You're sassy, daring, super smart, and don't want for anything -- just truly special. I hoped to keep that little part of sunshine to myself a bit longer."   
  
"And what about Tien?"  
  
"He's not going anywhere. You are. I love him. But how I feel about you both is different."  
  
"I get what you’re saying," Bulma said sympathetically. "It’s clear that having an 'open relationship' means ruling out certain friends for sex. I could have pushed back harder, but everything we exposed ourselves to together felt unbelievable too. Doing what we did wasn't the hell on Earth by any means."   
  
Launch downed her gin, pouring another glass. "You and Vegeta together now?"  
  
Bulma refused the glass, taking her hand. "I gotta go. A gift for you is in that bag over there."  
  
Launch smiled awkwardly. "You didn't have to."  
  
"I know I didn't."  
  
"Let me give you something in return." Launch ran back into her office, returning with a small wooden box. "Take this, just in case you're running out."  
  
"You keep Sternuta in your office?" Bulma burst out laughing. "Actually, I don't want to know what you're doing with it here."  
  
"I grow some botanical ingredients for the person who makes it. We aren't the only ones with this _awesome_ kink!"

Bulma took the box, slipping it into her purse like contraband. "You know that you're sounding disturbingly spiritual about this stuff, right?"  
  
"You look like you're going to be arrested for doing that," Launch said, laughing loudly. "Don’t you want to know who makes this stuff, girlie?"  
  
"No. I'll keep my suspicions private as well."  
  
"If you've been too chicken shit to try it _with_ your lover, whoever it is, then maybe it's time you should."  
  
"I haven't said anything about having _any_ lover."  
  
"You don't have to." Launch checked her gun's safety lock, following her out. "Not even Yamcha put the sparkle I see in your eyes now. It's like night and day. Now go away. I have shooting practice soon."

Bulma's heels clacked speedily toward her SUV. All of the windows and windshield went pitch black on the outside. She opened the box Launch gave her, dipping her pinky finger inside for no more than a few grains after crawling into the back seats. She still had to go to work. Coming into the office red-faced and acting dippy -- not to mention completely hot to trot -- absolutely couldn't happen. The familiar tingle tickled inside of her nostril's rim. She clutched a handkerchief, sneezing down into it with relief. Her bra-less tits bounced as a couple more sneezes came out. Then they stopped. She dropped the cloth, removing a pink vibrator from a hidden compartment behind the seat, circling her pussy with the throbbing instrument.   
  
"Just two minutes," she moaned. "That's...that's all I need. No or...orgasm."  
  


* * *

  
  
Bulma scribbled on a ragged notepad, trying to focus. She felt uncomfortably warm, despite her office's comfortable temperature. The source of discomfort could be her new birth control pills, she thought, or maybe it was the one glass of gin she had earlier with Launch. Oh yeah: Maybe it was that quick self-satisfaction journey she took in the back of her car! Whatever it was, she needed immediate relief. Water would have to suffice.  
  
"Damn it. I have to finish this!" The sketch's geometry and dimensions weren't coming together, and it pissed her off even more when her favorite pencil cracked in half. She yowled like an angry cat, throwing the splintered instrument on the floor.  
  
Her wristwatch snarled -- her personal ringer for Vegeta's attempts to reach her. Her cheeks puffed out. Was this the time to answer? He either had a request for something work-related or some other non-scheduled naughtiness she had no time to entertain. Didn't he know she was busy?!  
  
Decision made: No, she wouldn't answer.   
  
"He should be training anyway -- or reading a book or something," she griped. "It's too early for him to be done for the day. He would chew me out if I stopped his _daytime occupation_ at this hour."  
  
Sometimes he did, but not much. She knew that. They rarely interrupted each other's routine unless absolutely necessary, unless they were genuinely curious. It was more fun to anticipate what came after work ceased. Yet Vegeta had been putting in more training time that Bulma didn't consider the most productive. Even the most well designed mechanical gears could wear down when overtaxed. She considered whether to say something for his own good. When they weren't with each other for several nights, he would almost always be restless, and sometimes irritable, on their first evening together.   
  
Next came the text.  
  
V: _What are you wearing today -- or not wearing?  
_   
"Ugh!" Bulma shook her phone over her head, dictating her reply. "Why can't he just leave me alone?!"  
  
B: _I'm busy._  
  
V: _I didn't ask you that. You're always busy.  
  
_B: _Can't you spank your dick on your own time?  
  
_V: _Is that a rhetorical question?  
  
_Bulma's eyes hit the ceiling as she laughed. Vegeta was becoming skilled at finding openings to keep her attention when he felt frisky.   
  
B: _I hate you.  
_  
V: _What does that have to do with anything? I hate practically everyone._ _  
  
_B: _I'm not wearing my bra. My tits itch like crazy now, which I'm blaming on you. Happy now?  
  
_Vegeta's next text sent an attachment entitled, "See you later." Bulma held her breath, wondering whether to open it then.  
  
She did.  
  
"Oh my stars." She covered her mouth. Her lace panties became wetter with each picture she saw. "That man is an _absolute_ demon!"  
  
After gulping a tall glass of water, she grabbed her purse, covering up her rock-hard tits. Her fist struck the hydraulic door's release button to leave.  
  
She jumped back with a yelp. The intruder, smelling of wood and spice, was dressed in all black -- semi-baggy jeans, jacket, shoes -- and wearing a crème-colored shirt. The uniform was simple yet utterly magnificent, and he knew it. He licked his lips before looking up with an air of confidence and trouble. Bulma had no way to get out with his burly right arm extended over the door frame.  
  
"Going somewhere?" Vegeta asked, demanding her visual attention. "Isn't it early to be leaving work?"  
  
_My god, I've created a monster_ , Bulma thought, gazing at him. _It's like he's delirious. No -- he looks downright feral. Damn him. We can't do anything in my office! What does he think he's doing, especially after sending those pictures?_  
  
Vegeta's slender, mysterious grin sent a chill through her body, reminding her of when they first met. She gasped as he pushed her back inside. He dimmed the lights one step below shadowy.  
  
"Is that a rhetorical question?" she asked, throwing her purse at him. Vegeta's head cocked as she backed away. He used his power to keep the expensive leather bag airborne, setting it on her desk.  
  
"That wasn't very nice at all, throwing things at me like that," he said, snapping his right fingers. "You should _never_ have given me access, woman. You're too trusting."  
  
"Do you actually think I wouldn't rig my office enough to kill us both?" Bulma taunted as she finally approached him. "You have no way of knowing how."  
  
"That's easy," Vegeta replied, seizing her. Bulma sighed as his tongue licked her clavicle. "Poison gas, of course -- but I have a high tolerance for toxic substances. You would choke first. That would be a…pity."  
  
Bulma gripped his tongue between her fingers. "We have a deal, Vegeta. Now get the hell off of me and leave my office. You're completely breaking the rules. No bra, no touch."  
  
"You're right," he whispered, nipping her ear. "That's why I sent those photos. I... need you to do things for me. I won't beg, but I can make the prospects enticing. You've been holding back, as if I couldn't tell."  
  
Bulma yanked his hair, hungrily drawing him in for a ferocious kiss. She shoved him against a long meeting table, feeling his chest as his sturdy arms cradled her semi-naked body. After lifting her skirt he unbuttoned his jeans, rubbing his swelling dick on her inner thigh. Bulma's hands tightened on his jacket's lapels, wrenching them as Vegeta's tongue pushed further into her mouth. His hooded eyes drifted backward like a man high on drugs. He was close to losing the control that he came in with as her silky fingers crept toward his dick.  
  
"Oh, my god," he exhaled, holding her arms in place. His pelvis arched up, thrusting against her. Another few minutes and Bulma would find a way to get his dick into her mouth, he knew, to drive him wild. The denouement was at hand. Four. Three. Two. One. Now!  
  
He released her, teasing and laughing in that deep-throated, gritty way that often irritated others. It didn’t phase Bulma at the moment, but she still wanted to smack the living shit out of him.  
  
"I was wrong to disobey _the rules_." Still chuckling, Vegeta touched his reddened lips. "I guess you'll have to punish me."  
  
Bulma turned her back. "You dirty cheating bastard -- and stop pinching my ass like that! Leave!"  
  
Vegeta removed a long gold mortise key from his pocket, swinging its braided-leather strap over her head. "You'll know where I'll be."  
  
"Give me that!" Bulma shouted. His laughing continued as she hopped around. "How did you find it?"  
  
"You're not the only one who's smart. We also had a deal. _Game_ _over_."  
  
Bulma pouted, stamping her feet much like her mother would. "How long have you had it?"  
  
"Long enough," Vegeta said, pitching the key over his shoulder. "I don't know why you chose such a simple game. Just because you thought hiding it in a safe would make things too easy doesn't mean I couldn't figure out those elaborate puzzles you gave me."  
  
Bulma caught the key, rolling the strap between her thumb and forefinger. He had gone too far. "Ten p.m., Vegeta. Be on time -- and eat early, because there will be no dinner."  
  
"That's what you think," Vegeta said, closing the door. "Look at your security camera next time too. Beware of strangers."  
  


* * *

  
  
Bulma casually glanced at her mirrored wall clock. She loved this decoration especially, with its parallel rectangular frames and slender smooth-moving hands spiraling on its face. She sipped Prosecco from a champagne flute. Her elbow-length black leather gloves and stiletto boots gleamed in the moonlight, smelling fresh of musky polish. The classical background music bounced with a decorative, anticipatory piano polonaise. She stood spreading her arms wide, holding the glass high as if revelers had filled the room. Her matte lipstick and penciled eyebrows were delicious signs of determination -- not finitude.  
  
  
Her sleeveless leather dress, called "Perfection," hugged curves from her breasts down to slightly above her knees. The unadorned appearance was pure. Fancy corsets and ties were unnecessary.  
  
Her smile faded as the doorbell chimed, though not from unhappiness, fear or disappointment. Five minutes until ten p.m. -- early enough to fulfill her expectation for punctuality, as well as his.  
  
The manner of the man who walked inside appeared nothing like the one who set Bulma's body alight earlier. Instead, he looked defiantly sullen in the way that others would find most familiar.  
  
She smiled kindly, stepping aside. Vegeta's body language seemed half-closed and open. He apparently had been mulling this for a while, she thought. Observing him, she wondered if this was the best path, taking his personal history into account. Why she didn't fear for safety was a testament to her courage - - or total insanity. He was a firecracker. Even her mother would probably freak out if she knew about this.   
  
She held his tensed hand. "I didn't expect you to ask for this when we talked later."  
  
Vegeta averted his eyes. "I know."  
  
"That must have been very, very hard for you to do. What prompted the request?"  
  
Vegeta looked up. "You." 

  
  
  



	10. Safe Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from last chapter: Bulma and Launch attempted to reconcile after their huge argument. Afterward, Vegeta and Bulma shared some steamy moments at the office. His mood has changed by the time he visits her penthouse later that evening.

Vegeta released Bulma's hand, giving her the key he found during their hide-and-seek game. She closed the door, looking back at him. Rather than say more, she walked behind the kitchen island, removing a tall bottle of sparkling water.   
  
"Does… my behavior seem strange to you right now?" he asked with a strange, detached tone.  
  
"I'm not judging you right now, Vegeta, given how our phone chat went before you arrived."  
  
"I can count on one hand of all the times I asked _anyone_ what they thought of me, Bulma, even when I somewhat cared to know. That goes back to my childhood. I defend myself when I'm pushed to it -- always. I have never expected much understanding, and you know that _everyone_ judges. I'm essentially asking what you think of me here, in this moment."  
  
Bulma handed her glass over for him to finish, paying attention to eyes again. Vegeta didn't continue to shield his reaction beyond his sometimes capricious wall of inscrutability. That was the least he could do. He asked a simple question that on its face was clearly more complex.  
  
"Strange, no," she replied. "Concerning, yes, but I'm learning to roll with these situations for the most part. None of that will change my honesty or criticism when believe certain things should be said, even when you pigheadedly don't want to hear either. If won't to listen to anyone else, then why not me?"  
  
"You do realize you how much control you've had from the day I accepted your invitation to live with your family."  
  
Bulma didn't answer at first. This man could detonate half a planet with his pinky finger. Her mind processed all of their interactions like a calculus equation.  
  
"You had nowhere else to go."  
  
"And you wanted to keep an eye on me."  
  
"Of course, but you knew that from the start too. I'm confused, Vegeta. Dad and I weren't exactly hiding anything. That said, you are… free to leave at any time. Sounds like you're contemplating it. Am I right?"  
  
She wasn't trying to be cold-hearted, but each night they slept together, hugged, kissed and held each other close she rejected the illusion of certainty between them. Now Vegeta was struggling with their intimacy. There was no doubt about it. She purposely looked away from the consequences because of how much pleasure she had with him. Her original concern had come to fruition. He was so very, very strong, and yet…  
  
Vegeta crumpled a newspaper in his hand. "I never stopped contemplating leaving, but being here gets me as close as possible to _what I want_. When I left your office today, having enjoyed myself more than I thought was capable in a different way, I suddenly felt nothing -- just nothing at all."  
  
Bulma retrieved the glass, pouring more water. "Maybe it's anger…or pain," she said cautiously. She wouldn't touch the word "fear." He would likely shut down at the mere suggestion.  
  
"Am I hearing you correctly?" Vegeta scoffed. "I _rarely_ have problems showing anger. What are you talking about?"  
  
"You numb yourself against true sources of your anger."  
  
Vegeta didn’t know what to make of her comment. He defined "numbing" differently. For his entire life, he boldly took each blow from adversaries, absorbing the searing pain, learning from it, and even insolently laughing at it no matter how afraid or broken he felt. To numb meant denying oneself the potential for a triumphant victory or sweet revenge. To numb meant accepting cowardice -- and a loss of confidence. He drowned in his blood rooting for Goku to crush Frieza -- because he couldn't himself -- to avenge their race. But, in that moment, he had been rendered impotent. He raged against _that_ reality.  
  
Pain was transformative and essential. He grew stronger _each time_ he was near death. Separating himself from that euphoria, no matter how destructive others perceived it to be, might be a worse fate.  
  
And then came Bulma with her sassiness, beauty, smarts, and _freedom_. She was imperfect, like him, but was also the most interesting woman he'd ever encountered and… so _natural_. Seeing her tied up in bondage during their rendezvous confirmed all that and more. She _trusted_ him to assist, watch patiently, and safeguard her, which he did. He obeyed when she asked him not to touch her during these moments, or follow her lead when she wanted him to. He could hold her in his arms afterward, listening to the sound of her breathing, without desiring more. She was no submissive in this partnership by any means.  
  
Those encounters penetrated the mantle of his inner self. He wanted to submit to her, again and again. He was there now for this reason. This desire collided with his fractured identities and how he wanted to envision himself.  
  
"I'm not angry with you," he murmured.  
  
"Excuse me?" Bulma winked, playfully nudging a guarded, inquisitive smirk out of him. "I _didn't_ include myself in that calculation, you jerk."  
  
She was too good at doing that, he thought. He touched her face, shutting his eyes to think and appreciating her warmth. Bulma's gloved palm settled over his, intuitively feeling the leaden weight on his spirit but not allowing herself to be shaken by it. She couldn't let him sit with this burden alone.  
  
Vegeta kissed her temple, moving to her lips. "I guess I put words in your mouth this time."  
  
Bulma didn't want to end their cuddle, but it was time to move on. She touched his shoulder, moving a few steps back. "What do you want to know?"  
  
"Everything I said before arriving here is muddled," Vegeta said with resignation. "I thought I knew."  
  
"All right." Bulma led him to the sofa, inviting him to sit. "I understand. As I said when you came in, I know it's hard for you. Are you willing to let me help?"  
  
With downcast eyes, Vegeta nodded silently.  
  
"You said, 'I want to surrender.' Can you… tell me what that means for you?"  
  
"I told you I don't know, Bulma!" Vegeta replied sullenly. "You can't tell me you do _completely_ either. No matter how many times we share a bed together -- no matter how much we pleasure each other -- I see locked doors, even dream about them sometimes."  
  
"So you feel trapped then," Bulma said, softening her voice. "What do those doors look like? Are you able to describe them with me?"  
  
Vegeta's breathing relaxed as she stroked his head. She felt determined to keep his mind present with her. Once he retreated inside of himself, almost all attempts to break through those multilayered padlocks could be beyond exhausting. Bulma knew when to retreat, despite their growing closeness. Her patience -- or the lack thereof -- and sanity depended on her ability to withdraw too.  
  
Vegeta's visions moved between two sets of doors, both tall and imposing. One bore a highly crafted engraving of the dark red Saiyan royal family's crest embossed with gold. The second door, awash in violet, white, and fuchsia, was a mind-altering phantasmagoria leading into one of Frieza's residences on a secluded planet. Whatever boyhood remained in Vegeta -- even as a formidable fighter from a warrior culture -- had been stripped mercilessly from him at that terrible place, scorching his soul. Frieza didn't engage in the abuse. He just watched from another room, drinking his wine and maybe raising an eyebrow during "that little monkey's freak show."  
  
"Vegeta, can you still hear me?"  
  
"Yes," he said breathlessly, bending over his knees. "One…one led to the main chamber at my father's palace. The other led to Frieza's great hall, where he…he… I can't say. I can't remember. I can't remember now."  
  
His behavior confirmed Bulma's worst fears about his past. She had to be tender and vigilant, and trust he wouldn't hurt himself, which could take on any number of forms. Yet, despite the abuse he suffered without his consent, he was still able to open himself to someone sexually and emotionally on a deeper level. That alone was triumph he needed someone to validate, she thought.   
  
Vegeta tried to collect himself, hoping to pull the internal mask over his soul that swung wide open with Bulma's simple questions. "I shouldn't have come or said anything. I'm leaving."  
  
"You've made me… very happy," Bulma said as he headed for the front door. "If we don't ever sleep together again, please carry that with you. But even more important, you already allowed yourself to surrender to a degree -- and freed yourself in a way. That's just as brave as any physical fight, I think."  
  
"If you say so." Vegeta laid his head against the door, holding the knob. "Beliefs are perceptions that can be dangerously wrong sometimes, Dr. Brief." 

He looked back, savoring her radiance in the moonlight. Then he left.  
  
Watching him depart like this hurt. Bulma removed her gloves, sat down and cried -- not for herself, but for him.  
  


  
Vegeta's lithe frame broke through a few humble little clouds above the Briefs' property, dispersing them into twirled, misty lines. His landing ended up being more graceful than the descent from the sky, which normally would have irritated him, being the perfectionist that he was. Though it was late and he felt mentally tired after leaving Bulma's penthouse, he needed an outlet. Exercising all night might be required until the acidic buzz in his chest subsided and he could breathe normally again. He entered the carriage house for workout clothes and shoes, quickly changing into them. Grateful to inhale more night air, he chose to trudge through the property's lowlands for a while first. He stayed out for almost two hours, in the dark, listening to wildlife as if he were one of their lot. Maybe he was.  
  
Slumber sounded more appealing as he left the area, frustrating him. During his prior life under Frieza, there were times when he didn't sleep for days after landing on planets or while engaged in battles. Yes, he enjoyed the luxuries of naps and occasionally sleeping-in late now, but only with the knowledge that he could forfeit them for as long as required to accomplish his goals. Thus, in his estimation, he could afford not to sleep now, overlooking how being outside had calmed him already.  
  
The stables were on the path back to his destination. He didn't care for spending much time there to avoid attracting much attention from anyone, but Panchy's horse Candy held his attention. Other horses usually retreated farther into their stalls whenever he observed them, but she never did. The creature reminded him of Bulma in some ways. She always nickered a friendly greeting, inviting him to approach almost flirtatiously. None of her compatriots appeared to be awake when he entered the stables except for Candy, though he assumed that some were, and she barely acknowledged him from afar. Horses were generally quiet animals, but this subdued reaction didn't seem right.  
  
"Bulma's mother would spit fire if I ignored whatever this is," he griped. "Don't they have monitors to check these beasts at night? I can't have a moment's peace."  
  
He picked up a lamp, dimming it while walking to Candy's location. Her head hung lower, but she still eyeballed Vegeta as she typically did, remaining silent. He listened closely to her breathing, which sounded rapid, but fear of him wasn't causing it. Her runny eyes drooped, and she was sweaty. Against his better judgement he warily entered the stall as Candy stumbled back to make more room. He stood on the horse's right side, touching her shoulder and neck, confirming what he had already suspected. He sighed, leaving his steady hand in place because the animal appeared to be calmer.  
  
"Maybe it's your illness that makes you even more trusting of me than usual. Not the wisest response. Why you act differently with me, unlike the others, I don't know." He recognized the metaphor that defined his relationship with Bulma, in his dreary view, and then ignored the feelings arising from it.  
  
He and Candy exchanged wary glances as the light crackle of footsteps approached.  
  
"Who's in there?" a woman said softly. "I see a light. Is something wrong?"  
  
Bulma entered wearing a crimson full-length hooded cape, beautifully accented by her black high boots and gloves. She was a striking vision in that ensemble, nearly taking Vegeta's breath away.  
  
He raised a finger to his lips. "There are other sleeping beasts in here, woman, or did you forget?"  
  
"Since when did you become an avid animal lover?" Bulma whispered, walking next to him. "Actually, don't answer that. What happened?"  
  
Vegeta moved back, allowing her to take the lead. "The horse is unwell. She's obviously lethargic and feels feverish, from what I can tell."   
  
Bulma stroked Candy's neck. "It's all right, my darling. We're going to help you feel better. This grumpy guy must _really_ like you. You think he should get a medal for chivalry?"  
  
"Must you _really_ do that in front of me?" Vegeta complained, abruptly leaving the stall. "It's not like she can understand that babying drivel or your rude mockery of my assistance."  
  
"Don't worry," Bulma said, looking over at him. "I didn't come here to harass you after our talk at the penthouse. I like to visit the horses alone to think sometimes. They're very soothing to be around."  
  
"It's rather late to travel from downtown for a trip to the zoo."  
  
Bulma glanced at her boots, hiding an elf-like grin. "Hn."  
  
"You're _wasting_ time," Vegeta said frostily, "and mimicking me is tactless. Go wake your mother."   
  
Bulma pushed her hood back, shaking her hair out. "Are you holding up OK?"  
  
"I didn't come here to think if that's what you're suggesting. I'm fine. I will stay until you return. Go on."  
  
"Thank you."   
  
By reflex, Bulma moved to touch his forearm -- to re-emphasize her gratitude -- but then stopped herself. Vegeta replied with firm nod. She removed her phone, calling a veterinarian as she exited.  
  
He wished he could say how stunning she looked, among other things, but other concerns took precedence. He re-entered the stall as Candy slowly lapped water. She responded to him with another sweet, soft whinny as he poured more for her.  
  
"I wonder how long you've hidden your pain. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised since your kind are preyed upon by other creatures. You have served your masters well, and from what I sense, you will die in peace soon. We Saiyans don't cry over our dead. We respect their strength in the face of adversity."  
  
Many of them didn't shed tears, but others had -- including him.  
  


* * *

  
Bulma, wearing a black catsuit, put on plasma safety goggles and headphones. Her jet-propulsion shoes buzzed with eagerness. An over-the-shoulder vest crisscrossed her chest and back. Non-lethal laser guns were strapped on both hips. Her father and a robotic attendant, who watched from a nearby observation room in this Capsule Corporation warehouse, waited for a thumbs-up to begin the target practice.   
  
"Are you ready, Dr. Brief?"  
  
"Yes, Charlie!" Bulma said, beaming with anticipation. "Let her rip!!!"  
  
With pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows, she glided around obstacles with veiled weaponry and other mechanical aggressors. All were programmed to aim for the targets on her chest and back, where the worst damage could be sustained during combat. Her father spoke into a microphone, directing her through parts of the sequence but tried not to overdo it. Bulma's established shooting skills provided more of an advantage than many others would have.  
  
"Center stage, kid."  
  
"I got it." Bulma's arms stretched, taking out laser spinners on both sides. "That was a little too easy."  
  
"Overconfidence can get your ass kicked too, young lady, but I suppose you could be correct," Dr. Brief replied, lighting a cigarette. Bulma was correct, but why give her too much credit? All experimental training had value.   
  
"How's mom?"  
  
"Doing all better. Traveling with me after Candy's death lifted her spirits. Curtain raise!"  
  
Bulma jetted higher to avoid a collision. "Good. Glad to hear it."  
  
"You seen the Saiyan lately?"  
  
"Not now, dad!" Bulma hollered. "Damn it! See what you did? That beam swept over my chest!"  
  
"My goodness!" Dr. Brief chuckled. "Hearing Vegeta's name is it all takes to get almost fake 'killed' in training game? Anything I should know about? It would be nice if you came home more often to gossip."  
  
Bulma landed with a thud, mildly shaking her father's eardrum. "You're the one working with him this month. I see all the reports."  
  
Annoyed, Dr. Brief tugged at his ear. "Let's get started again, daughter. Work _harder_. Remember what happened with that Captain Ginyu thug during your trip to Namek -- and that frog?"  
  
"Dad!" Bulma slapped her forehead. "Hush up!"  
  
Dr. Brief's gnarled fingers jiggled over the control panel. "Sequence three, sweetheart?"  
  
"Whatever, dad. Just don't throw me off this time!"  
  
Bulma hopped on top of a large tractor-trailer as virtual troopers chased with weapons. Closer and faster shots grazed by her, but still she managed to make some impressive hits.  
  
"What is this?" she exclaimed, laughing. "This feels like the first sequence dad! Vegeta would give us so much shit for playing it easy."  
  
Dr. Brief smiled, slamming a button to open an underground chamber. "Well, at least you got that one thing right."  
  
"Indeed, she did."  
  
"Shit!" Bulma spun around, aiming her guns. "What do you think you're doing?!"  
  
Vegeta smirked, surveying the laser dots' pathways to his chest. "If this is some kind of imitation of my abilities, I can't say I'm flattered by the result."  
  
Dr. Brief chortled at his daughter's shock, clapping his hands. "Vegeta, you have my full permission to fine tune these sequences to help her improve!"  
  
"The hell with you both!" Bulma shouted, throwing down her goggles. She had to draw a line somewhere with this behavior. "I have other things to do!"  
  
"Wait, honey," Dr. Brief pleaded. "I'm coming in. Don't go off in a huff. I was just having a little fun."  
  
"Don’t _bother_ , daddy. Love you much, but I'm outta here. I'll call mom later." Feeling Vegeta's approaching hand, she jumped aside. "And don't you _dare_ touch me! I can't believe you joined in this immature behavior with him!"  
  
"It took your father a while to convince me," Vegeta replied calmly. "I expected this overwrought reaction from you. I can, however, help refine the sequences for a better experience that matches your skills."  
  
"Ugh!" Bulma thundered out of the room madly waving her arms. "I'm so done! I _built_ a revolutionary machine for this man, but he has _the nerve_ to patronize me!"  
  
Dr. Brief sauntered from the observation chamber, waving at her. "Come in here this instant, young lady, and stop all of this drama!"  
  
"I said what I needed to say, daddy."  
  
"Why are you so angry? You and Vegeta have come hard with teasing before. You usually had some great comebacks."  
  
"I would call those infuriating, pull-my-hair-out arguments," she replied, taking a coffee cup from him. "You still need him here -- and neither of us should antagonize each other."  
  
"Just me?" Dr. Brief returned to his seat, relighting his cigarette. "We're in this together, kid."  
  
"Oh please. I can't do this with you too. Mom is bad enough."  
  
"I suggest you resolve the problem, whatever it is. You've had a great influence on Vegeta -- amazing, really. I can also tell he misses seeing more of you."  
  
Bulma exhaled. "He's fine. How many times do I have to say this? It’s not my responsibility --"  
  
"The hell it isn't, Bulma!" Dr. Brief said sharply. "Duty is duty -- you got me? You _started_ this. Despite Vegeta's more irritating moments, everything we learn from him can help others. I also see that he's still in the drill-training room. Go talk with him. Do it for me, honey."   
  
"You're not being fair by asking me like that."  
  
Dr. Brief reached to hug her. "Nope, I'm not, and I'm leaving too. See you for dinner at _our home_?"  
  
"Sure, daddy," Bulma said, kissing both cheeks. "I'll do that for you too."  
  
Her hand rested on the training room's door. She and Vegeta had given each other a lot of space, with him needing it more, she believed. Her strong response to seeing him and being teased definitely felt unnerving. He was hovering near one of the ceiling's laser simulators, thumping on it as she entered.  
  
Bulma's jaw clenched at the sight.   
  
"Can you _please_ not do that? You have your own endless batches of equipment to destroy at home."  
  
Vegeta landed, appearing slightly perturbed. "How come you've never said _anything_ \-- like absolutely nothing -- about this place since I've been on Earth?"  
  
Bulma's eyes rolled. "I'm here because my father sent me back to talk -- about what, I have no idea."  
  
"He needn't have. I was on my way out anyway."  
  
"You know, Vegeta, you could have crafted an _original_ excuse to give me misery in person. I never thought you were the type to use an intermediary."  
  
Vegeta turned, clenching his fists. "I'm _not_ , until I _met_ you."  
  
"I'm so sorry." Bulma touched her lips, looking down. "I'm so sorry, Vegeta. I'll claim this. I started it."  
  
"You will claim _nothing_!" Vegeta retorted, stomping in front of her. "You don’t get the indulgence of martyrdom, woman, because I'm sure as hell _not_ your victim or anyone else's! Understand me?!"  
  
"Understood, _Prince_ _Vegeta_ ," Bulma said with a sad smile. "Understood."  
  
"Save that depressing look for someone else." Vegeta covered his reddened face, breathing deeply to calm down. "It won’t work on me."  
  
"This is out of your system now," Bulma replied. "Now we can resume our official duties as project collaborators."  
  
"Just listen." Vegeta held her wrist, carefully bringing her closer. "I…I know… you've never meant any harm, Bulma. If you'll still have me, I want to finish what we started that night at the penthouse."  
  
"All right," she said, patting his chest as they left together. "All right, Vegeta."   
  
"I also have another request."  
  
"Well this is your role play," Bulma replied with a curious glance, "but let's wait until we're at the penthouse to discuss much more. What is it?"  
  
"Share _what you do_ with that little box in your toy cabinet... with me."  
  
"Uh." Bulma blinked, swallowing hard as Vegeta's piercing eyes locked with hers. "Um."  
  
He hadn't forgotten, and he meant every single word.


	11. Precious Jewels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from last chapter: Bulma reopened the door for Vegeta to meet his needs differently through submission. He makes a challenging request of her.

Bulma regained the power of her vocal cords -- and cognition -- to consider how to handle this situation. Why was she so anxious about sharing her fetish with Vegeta? She had him indulge in most of her other impulses and sexual tastes, and validated his claim on those experiences. One need not to have genius-level awareness to know that, before her, Vegeta wasn't a sex partner who stuck around. Unless they were deluded, those other women realized the disappointing consequences of expecting more from him -- or anything, really. He was a hard man living in a hardened way, full stop. Yet those restraints had unraveled like virgin lamb's wool with her.  
  
His request for Bulma not to wear a bra merely tested the waters. He could have asked for much, much more for a long time, but his wish appeared to satisfy him. Bulma never failed to have spicy ideas and make subtle and unsubtle demands of him. Now she had dug herself into a hole, all because she wanted him to fully experience how she felt. Vegeta's presence further allowed her to revisit the side that needed rekindling -- indeed, the experience Launch said Bulma needed.   
  
"Damn it. I forgot that dad asked me to attend a family dinner in a few hours -- because I haven't been home as much -- and it looks like my sister Tights will be there too. Of course you're welcome to come."  
  
Vegeta knew Bulma was telling the truth but also leaving out some things. Maybe she suddenly felt he would ask too much from her. Expressing disappointment wouldn't happen, he decided. Enough angst-filled discussion already happened at the warehouse.  
  
"I can find _other things_ to do."   
  
"Don't do _that_ with me." Bulma interlaced her fingers with his. "Friendship is hard."  
  
"No shit," Vegeta said almost inaudibly, "and don't tell me what _to do_."  
  
"I do a good job of _that_ already."  
  
"Ugh!" Vegeta pivoted to hide his flushed cheeks. "I made one request -- though there will be others -- and you avoided answering. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"  
  
"I also have the right to say no, Vegeta, just as you do."  
  
"Of course. I didn't say you don't _have_ that right, Bulma. I had hoped you would… oh never mind."  
  
Bulma hopped up like a frustrated puppy. "Finish your thought. Finish the damn sentence. We've had sex against _ceilings_ before. Surely, you can complete this thought."  
  
Not understanding her response, Vegeta hesitated. He definitely wasn't best-known for transparency with more complex feelings, but Bulma's mixed messages were running a close second, he thought.   
  
"Exactly, woman. We have done those things together. In this case, you didn't answer me at all -- not yes, no, or even that you'll consider it. Am I not deserving of that courtesy, at least?"  
  
"So you're concerned about whether I trust you?" Bulma knew she had some nerve asking this now. Obviously he would be. "I… don't trust myself, Vegeta."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
Bulma touched his hand. "I'm sorry. I should be practicing what I preach to you."  
  
She had become accustomed to Vegeta's long pauses. His mind was busiest during these moments. He could overthink things to death sometimes -- when he wasn't being mindbogglingly impulsive -- but in this case she understood. So she waited.   
  
"You should be," he replied, "so continue."  
  
"The substance in that box is an aphrodisiac -- kind of."  
  
"Well, I _kind of_ figured that out already," Vegeta said with a knowing smirk. "I have never used one."  
  
"Never?" Bulma touched her chest with mock concern, batting her eyes. "Are you scared?"  
  
"Really?" he groaned. "Did you forget how I lived? Why would I try _any_ random stimulant offered to me in a compromising situation? That caution comes from wisdom, _not_ fear."  
  
"But that didn't keep you from the sex." Bulma's giggles whistled through her words, provoking Vegeta further. Having have zero impulse control wasn't serving her well right then, but each discovery about him was so damn interesting!   
  
"That's not the point!" he barked. "It's…it's not like I was out chasing those moments like a heat-seeking missile. Other priorities, you know?"   
  
"I know," Bulma said with a soberness that they both shared. "I'm acutely aware of those."  
  
A charged erotic heat flowed between them, which usually happened when both revealed more of their inner complexities. Neither wanted to surrender to their urges yet. The evening was young after all.  
  
"What do you...fear?" Vegeta asked.  
  
"That…" Bulma shut her eyes, searching for her voice again. "That you will… laugh at me."  
  
Vegeta focused on her pause between "will" and "laugh." They were on a first-name basis with playful mockery, but both were more careful about each other's sexual sensitivities.   
  
"That's not all, is it?"  
  
"Damn it, Vegeta."  
  
"Though I've been there already, you're free to tell me to go to hell," he quipped with a straight face. "I'm sure it won't be the last time."  
  
"Fine," Bulma surrendered. "I have a fetish that I'm almost sure many others wouldn't understand. The powder in the box helps me indulge in it, whether I'm with someone or not."  
  
Bulma's revelation of yet _another_ fetish didn't surprise Vegeta. Her apprehension did. Next to being aroused by killing someone -- which she wasn't -- this certainly couldn't be _that_ bad. How much control did she lose? Was the fetish more dangerous than she let on? Just _how much_ danger?   
  
His dick tingled just enough to almost make him laugh. But wait: a _substance_ reinforces her top-secret fetish. Was this some kind of extra-powerful mind-altering drug? If that were the case, he wouldn't participate in anything that could destroy her gifted brain -- or his, for that matter. He saw what drug addiction did to others during his space travels -- and, quite frankly, he wasn't sympathetic, believing that these situations were preventable. Yet if Bulma were addicted, he wouldn't spare her from his version of rehabilitation -- gods help her with that option -- and do what he could to help.   
  
"What, Vegeta? You got real quiet."  
  
"Does it, um…what's the word you humans use for being drugged?"  
  
"Stoned?" Bulma's eyes widened, followed by a wide smile. "You remember that?"  
  
"Must you respond to everything I remember with some type of shock? It's not like we ---"  
  
"Quiet." Bulma's fingers covered his lips, causing him to blush again. "I can see you were distracted when you learned of it. That's all. I don't doubt that your mind is a steel trap -- like my own."  
  
Vegeta frowned, pushing her arm away. "Stop that."   
  
He knew Bulma wasn't trying to be flirtatious _at that moment_ , but these intimate and funny incidents they shared together felt so good. At the same time, they also were incredibly hard on him. He was falling in love with her. On balance, he also began to understand how friendship worked on a deeper level. Out of his two former attendants, he felt closer to Raditz, but necessity and self-preservation also underpinned their relationship. Both Raditz and Nappa knew of Vegeta's potential for greatness, and they stuck with him for that reason. As the former head of the Saiyan army, Nappa's perspective about Freiza's influence on Vegeta divided between pragmatism and mercenary. Sometimes he overlooked the bullying and abuse Vegeta received as a child from Frieza, and the tyrant's henchmen, believing that the boy could take it -- and that it could make him stronger. Hell, Vegeta _requested_ more difficult missions at a young age just to prove himself, some of which even Nappa didn't prefer for any of them to handle.  
  
Indeed, Nappa's gamble paid off in many ways, but it also warped Vegeta's bitter view of life, as well as sharpened the young man's vengefulness -- along with other pathological behaviors. He also wondered if he would become a target of Vegeta's wrath one day. It terrified him, actually. He wanted to explain to Vegeta that everything he allowed to happen was for the boy's own good. Furthermore, what more could he do? Frieza had the upper hand. Death meant the end of their race and the potential for Vegeta to rule _something_ \-- and, most of all, get retribution against Frieza after figuring out his role in the genocide of the Saiyans.  
  
Vegeta's training on their extinct home planet would have been extremely harsh too. But the boy still would have been raised in a more caring manner than this. Members of the royal court would have guaranteed it, shaping a future king with less arrogance than their current one. Vegeta was clever, brilliant, hardworking, and clearly an emerging prodigy before he was barely five years old. Softening his ego just enough could have created a wise and careful leader tough enough to obliterate their colonization, they believed, guiding their countrymen to bloody their hands with the names of any aggressor daring to challenge them.  
  
The prince probably would have had friends, too, within his social class. He understood what that meant, but letting anyone get that close now would have likely led to losing them, he believed. Then Bulma came along. He found himself picking fights to keep her close just long enough to feel her sunshine. He even quietly appreciated her parents' care. He was taciturn and elusive, arrogant and moody, but he returned their generosity in other ways. Her father particularly knew what he was capable of, seeing through his blustering bullshit.  
  
Attaching himself to these… friends…felt good inside and also hurt terribly. He had long denied the loneliness journeying with him for years. That ache was worst at night as time passed, but he refused to cry. There was too much of that on Namek already. The broken soul haunting him after that fateful day with Frieza and Goku, drowning in his own blood, wasn't the man he expected to be -- and never, ever would be again. There would be difficult choices -- love or not -- but for now he needed another plentiful drink from Bulma's freedom. 

"Your family is waiting for you. I'll be at the penthouse."  
  


* * *

  
Bulma's purse landed with a thud on the console near the door, jiggling her bangle bracelets. Vegeta probably heard her footsteps from farther away if he was paying attention. A soft glow from a ceiling light illuminated a loosely bundled bouquet of dark-red roses in a vase on the coffee table. The sculpted blooms curled on each end with rounded peaks. Vegeta stood at the far end of the picture window, now his preferred location for stargazing and introspection. Bulma's misbehaving smile twinkled, but she stayed where she was. Vegeta's clothing had changed, retrieved from a capsule left in her bedroom. His all-white outfit was breathtaking, especially with his shirt partially open. Maybe he agreed to wear it because, for a moment, he could take in a different image of his royalty.   
  
"They… are called explorers."  
  
Bulma finally received permission to speak and move: Vegeta's opening salvo. Those "orders" wouldn't last long. Her bare-legged stroll ended next to the vase.  
  
"The roses? They're gorgeous. Any significance behind the name?"  
  
"Don't press your luck, woman," he breathed with a hint of crankiness, "or ask how I got them."  
  
Bulma's slight smile over his antics gave them both relief. He still wanted to be there. The roses were a lovely gesture, given his awkwardness with sentimental matters. Bulma never said anything about liking these kinds of flowers either. He definitely wouldn't have asked her parents.  
  
"Hold up. We _have_ an agreement. Apologize. _Now_."  
  
"Those roses are my apology in reverse."  
  
"Well, no one could ever say you aren't clever." Bulma laughed as her tongue playfully danced across her front teeth. "Looks like you've stood there for a while."  
  
Vegeta slowly left his window perch, though his eyes showed no signs of contrition. His reserved response was less an act of defiance and more of acknowledgement.  
  
For the first time in his life, he was handing himself over completely to someone -- his pride, sense of self, sexuality. He couldn't bring himself to claim happiness, even as a daring man.  
  
**Condition one: Pay attention to cues.**  
  
"Very good," Bulma continued. "Glad you got the hint -- and you look _quite_ eye-catching in that attire. It almost makes me want to take advantage of you." She touched the tip of her nose. "Oh no. Wait. I will be taking advantage of you!"  
  
Vegeta's head cocked. Could it have been displeasure? Examination? Curiosity? Bulma went with the last two. He appeared guarded, despite their ongoing trysts together. He _was_ guarded, but he kept his promise not to leave again. She didn't have to do any of this -- to be there for him -- but she was.  
  
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked.  
  
**Condition two: No sexual intercourse.**  
  
"Is that's what on your mind?" Bulma removed her shoes, pushing the ornate gold key she kept ready into his hand. "How concerned are you?"  
  
"Better for us not to re-examine that right now, don't you think?"  
  
"It's going to be OK. You still get to laugh, Vegeta. You have that privilege, and _I get the privilege_ of seeing the best part of that every time we tease each other, including now."  
  
**Condition three: There's nothing to prove, compete against, or win.**

Vegeta's breath shook as they kissed. Bulma's palm on his face felt like cool water. He could barely answer. He did want that kind of release, more and more, as they spent time together. But laughing was an artifice -- a tool -- for self-defense and intimidation, saving face, or even hiding fear. The act wasn't always free and open like Bulma's friends considered it to be, he thought. A true laugh meant something. Perhaps it was an unfair assumption, but he believed they took that meaning for granted.   
  
"This is so far from everything I've ever known. All of my…life. I want you to understand."  
  
"I'm trying to understand, Vegeta. You're not alone in this."  
  
Witnessing his confusion beyond the rage and distress almost brought Bulma to tears again. He didn't need to see them -- to feel pitied by anyone. She didn't pity him. Never had she experienced anyone so alone in the world -- who ultimately believed his fate would be tied to that reality.   
  
**Condition four: It's OK to ask for you what you want. All outcomes are negotiable between partners, including how much pain would be inflicted or endured, if at al** l.  
  
Of course Vegeta already had a high pain threshold. He carried himself on a kind of protective autopilot. Given his upbringing and heritage, that was expected -- and necessary -- to build power reserves. But a lot more pain was in store. At least he _could choose_ his methods without interference now, rather than enduring sadists dead-set on inflicting their own unrelenting brands of torture -- Frieza having been one.  
  
Vegeta could also lower his threshold enough to bear the sharp snap of a lash or paddle on his bare skin. He recognized the pleasure-pain potential at a young age but never revealed the extent of his desire, understanding that it would have likely attracted the worst kind of attention and more burdens he didn't want. He already had been the target of abuses that he fought tooth and nail to overcome.  
  
Vegeta suspected Raditz knew, though, which shamed him. He was a royal after all. Intimate encounters with a lower-ranked attendant would have threatened the power hierarchy. Raditz would've taken advantage without regrets, especially as Vegeta's raw, uncompromising manhood sharpened with age and experience. To dominate him -- feeding the prince's erotic thirst -- would've been the ultimate conquest.   
  
Bulma stood behind, watching him open her cabinet to choose their instruments. He glanced back as she departed to change clothing. Her fingers glided across the wall next to the bed's nightstand, revealing a security-access device. The cabinet moved aside, exposing a reinforced-metal door.  
  
"One more thing I didn't know about." Vegeta touched his chin, inspecting the room's interior. "You certainly do enjoy surprises."  
  
"It's not like I've ever used it with anyone else before," Bulma replied casually. Vegeta may not have liked surprises all that much, but his twitching eyebrow indicated her success at stroking his vanity.  
  
"What do you call it? You usually name everything."  
  
"The dungeon, of course."  
  
"Of course," Vegeta smirked, shaking his head. "Of course."   
  


* * *

  
Bulma reappeared in a jet-black jacket that extended to her neck. An elaborate leather tie held the outfit together at her midsection, flanked by large metallic buttons that ran up like ladders to her shoulders. A stiff, waist-length black cape hung down her back. Black leather boots and gloves, and fabric leggings, completed the ensemble.  
  
The contrast between Vegeta's white and her dark couldn't have been purer. They walked to the farthest end of the room, stopping in front of a large X-shaped frame attached to the wall. Bulma placed ropes, a flogger, leather cuffs, and a harness on a floor chest covered with red velvet. More ropes of similar quality hung along the walls. A circular mirror provided a full view of the setup.  
  
"Have you thought of safe words?"  
  
"Nothing is ever completely safe," Vegeta replied. "Yes and no are adequate for my needs."  
  
"But we're not here for adequate," Bulma said, gently touching his chest. "We know you could destroy any of the physical restraints I'm putting on you soon, but sensation is sensation. Light and heavy touches can call up all sorts or memories, and --"  
  
"Stop." Vegeta brushed her hair aside for a calming kiss. "I can say no at any time, and _I will_ if necessary. Blinking will be my cue if anything else arises, and… I… know that I can trust you here."   
  
"All right," Bulma replied, staring at the wall.   
  
Vegeta tied his shirt around his hips, and faced the wall. Bulma retrieved the cuffs as his sculpted arms and legs extended spread-eagle over the frame. He nodded, cuing her to shackle his wrists, waist and ankles to the metal cross. She held the face-mask harness next to his cheek.  
  
"I don't want my face covered, even with my back to you. My eyes stay open...for everything."  
  
Bulma considered his words, swinging her snakelike bullwhip on the floor. Her arm sailed backward, flinging the whip high over her shoulder, and then down with an electrifying sonic crack between Vegeta's shoulder blades. He concentrated on the whip's peal, listening and conjuring images of his worst humiliations. None of this was about physical pain, obviously. He was allowing himself to submit because of deeper pain. Whether a demonstrative purge would happen completely was unclear.  
  
"Again," he said through tightened lips. His tone was quiet and measured. " _Do not stop until you're tired_. Understand?"  
  
Bulma swung the whip again, partly encircling waist. Didn't take long before she realized his end goal.  
  
"My neck."   
  
The body memory of his crushing strangulation and beating by Frieza on Namek came into clear view. His eyes were closed then as he took those pitiless blows, but he had to witness everything now.  
  
********************  
_"My, my. What do we have here? A fallen prince. Oh dear. It pains me to see you like this, Vegeta. I don't know why, but I still care for you enough to put you out of your misery."_  
  
********************

"Again!" Vegeta laughed bitterly. "Again! I didn't say stop!"  
  
Bulma kept up pace for as long as possible -- almost two hours -- but now she needed to rest completely, and Vegeta needed a different type of support now, she believed. But he also had to be ready to accept it.   
  
"I'm tired now," she panted with sweat pouring down her face. "I must stop. My arms are killing me."   
  
Vegeta's stony appearance relaxed as she approached. Though she could hardly move, Bulma reached over carefully to caress him. He resisted the urge to move away, instead drawing reassuring strength and comfort from her touch. She meant what she said about having nothing to prove to her.   
  
"I just…just...needed to see it again in my own way, Bulma -- not in Frieza's way. I didn't give up. You didn't see what happened to me on Namek, but no one can say I completely gave up, not even when he did everything possible to destroy me. I... hadn't given up."  
  
"I know."  
  
Vegeta looked up, focusing on her limp posture. "Lay your hands on my chest right now. I am not in pain."  
  
Bulma's eyes closed gratefully as his ki's warmth restored her. She immediately unlocked his shackles, taking him into her arms. "It's all right."  
  
Vegeta's embrace of her deepened. "Training wasn't making those thoughts go away -- not like everything else. Not like everything else."  
  
"How does it feel now? How do you feel now?"  
  
"Better."  
  
Bulma lifted his chin, kissing him. "Maybe when we do it next time -- if there is a next time -- you will feel more in control, even as you submit. Are you ready to balance this experience with the other one?"  
  
Vegeta stared at the beige ropes all around them, thinking of Bulma's reactions to being tied up. After kissing her again, he nodded. Bondage would be an aesthetic, intense journey fit for a king and queen. Her sympathetic blue eyes told him that.  
  
"You won't be disappointed," she replied, holding his hand, "just like you haven't disappointed me."  
  
A precise, penetrating sparkle crossed Bulma's view -- one that only precious jewels could conjure -- from the opposite end of the room. She didn't realize Vegeta had brought her pewter box, knowing she would have to notice eventually from where they stood.  
  
"Then trust me with what you're holding back," he whispered, grasping her waist. Even her sweat smelled sweet to him. "Give it to me."  
  
Bulma unbuttoned her collar, allowing him to inhale more. Her hand slipped between his legs, delicately brushing them with the first rope.

* * *

  
**A/N - Thanks to my new kudos supporters! I'm glad you feel like I'm doing something right. If anything else comes to mind, readers, hit me up with a comment or two.**


	12. A Wild Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap: Vegeta and Bulma began their journey with a whip, revelation, and release. Now, the rope.

Bulma's right boot heel, gleaming with polish, pressed down on Vegeta's chest as he lay blindfolded on the floor. His linen pants were down partly, displaying his sizable dick. The pair had been ready for their bondage phase, but Bulma had a prize to claim after her marathon session with him on the rack. They rested together in bed to settle themselves before starting up again.  
  
Bulma partially unfastened her boot, allowing him to feel her calf and pull the zipper to the end. Vegeta guessed where this path might lead, but his focused partner expected him to remain silent.  
  
"I’m not ready yet," she said. Her songbird tone contrasted with the grinding heel. "I'm still thinking."  
  
Vegeta's hand pulled back. He liked her feet, but he could tolerate being unable to play with them. His obedience drew a smile from her, he knew. She soon returned seriousness. The leggings had been removed, along with her panties. Vegeta held them beneath his nose soon after being blindfolded. A cushioned spread supported his back. He appeared fully comfortable -- maybe a little too comfortable.  
  
"Sleepy?" she asked.  
  
Again, Vegeta said nothing. Instead, he defiantly grasped her heel's tip. He considered removing the cap just to needle her. Submission had its benefits and drawbacks. Bulma's penciled eyebrow rounded upward before she removed the boot and threw it aside. Her hand loosened a red sachet bound to her waist containing an oily, sweet-smelling perfume to brush down the curved path to her vagina. She glanced at the locked testicle cuff on Vegeta's dick, playing with an ornate, lattice-patterned key tied to her neck. She kissed Vegeta's cheek tenderly, rubbing his fingers on the key's grooves. His testicles were stretched down, making his dick appear longer. What a treat. She hadn't even done this with Yamcha, who at times shied from her more adventurous interests.  
  
Vegeta inhaled, taking in the soothing aroma: vanilla. His lips parted while piano music played, with its slow, shadowy C-sharp triad of hard-key flourishes and dramatic pacing. It felt like the beginning of an epic poem. His thoughts shuttled to Bulma's red-hooded cape at Panchy's stable. He wanted to take her right there, holding her face beneath the cloak for the deepest kiss he could muster.  
  
Bulma had never anointed herself in this simple fragrance before. A heated surge pulsed between Vegeta's legs. Her ownership intensified as a single rose petal touched his nose. His primal senses stirred. This was different than anything he'd ever known. He had seen animals in heat before. Now he felt like one. His eyes were wild beneath that blindfold. He and Bulma were skilled at restraint before sex to enrich their experiences, but the rhapsodic cravings he felt at the stable clouded his mind.   
  
Bulma fastidiously observed his shifting expressions, especially as his nostrils flared. Her right forefinger glided between his lips as her shapely legs spread over his chest. Vegeta finally broke his silence, exhaling. She moved his hands to her hips, permitting him to lift her midsection over his face. His mouth opened wider, licking the exterior of her labia folds as much as she allowed him to. Her scent urged more succulent kisses from him over those pink, silken lips leading to her primeval eroticism. How many times had he proudly claimed her fevered shouts as his tongue searched each eager nerve on each side of her inside? But this time, in this moment, she had captured him. No shouting or writhing this time.  
  
Bulma's head arched backward, taking it all in. Her hands merely fingered through Vegeta's bushy hair, compelling a more profound vaginal massage. Vegeta continued to suckle her like a man with a tit. Her lips pursed as his tongue's tip danced around like a roguish sprite on her clit. Vegeta reached for her hands, sensing her body's change. She refused the invitation. He was gaining control, though he wasn't consciously trying. This was a meditation that would continue as their bondage rendezvous approached. Bulma's waist rocked as Vegeta's hands returned to her hips. He didn't want to stop pleasuring her, especially as the cuff's pressure increased his arousal.  
  
"You can't take me fully," she said, holding his balls, "and you certainly won't reach orgasm in this way."  
  
Vegeta stopped, withdrawing his tongue. "Neither will you, unless I have your permission to continue."  
  
Bulma straightened her back, feeling his penetrating eyes almost bore holes through the blindfold.   
His response was dignified and natural, nothing like the roughened, combative man the outer world wrangled with. This side had been there all along, she knew. Saiyans were warriors, but Vegeta had been taught the fundamentals of propriety as a child of royalty. He suppressed the full extent to further protect himself, having learned from his attendants' cautious instruction during his youngest years.  
  
"How hard is this openness on you?" she asking, touching his cheek. "I sense something different."  
  
"How invested are you in owning me, Bulma?"  
  
"How invested are you in owning me, Vegeta?"  
  
Neither meant ownership in the traditional sense. Neither could never, ever be possessed by anyone or anything, they believed. Not now. Bulma definitely believed that about herself. Never in a million years would Vegeta have thought he could say anything this intimate to anyone, especially to a woman. Would he be able to show loyalty and make the kind of sacrifices she deserved, knitting his soul to hers? In doing this, Bulma willingly served unmet needs as they explored their bodies' infinitude. He had no right or claim to any of this -- absolutely no right at all. His swelling heart retreated.  
  
After a lengthy silence between them, Bulma removed Vegeta's blindfold to kiss. "Remember, these kinds of situations can bring up many feelings that… can be strange and difficult to process. We won't second-guess ourselves. Searching for answers is less important than being present together now."   
  
Vegeta's finger circled Bulma's clit's fleshy head, hoping she would allow him to finish. Her exhalation trembled with her full permission. His tongue stirred inside of her unhurriedly, lapping her up.  
  
Clearly, they wouldn't be separating at sunrise.

* * *

  
Now completely naked, Bulma walked around examining Vegeta's bodily dimensions. He was dense and compact, so this tie-up would be significantly more challenging. He had to be more active to avoid becoming dead weight. His flowing white clothes complemented the taupe-colored rope between her teeth, with the rest stretching long behind them. Tall wooden slats formed a square around them, with suspension rings attached on each parallel plank at the top. A long and massive bamboo bar hung over their heads. Bulma walked behind him, drawing her hands down his shoulders. She breathed on his neck, unraveling the first set of ropes to tie his wrists together. She lifted them, wrapping the bundle around the top of his chest and forearms before retying his wrists. Another bundle encircled Vegeta's chest again, with Bulma tightening her grip. He listened to her short and long breaths. Standing from behind, she wrenched the ropes firmly with the symmetrical precision of an engineer.  
  
She gripped his shoulders, expecting him to bend over. The bamboo bar dropped closer, allowing her to tie the rope like a pulley on his back. She yanked to increase Vegeta's sensation. His body still hung low. Then she gingerly pulled another tight handful of rope beneath his right thigh. His eyes closed.  
  
And so it went.  
  
By the end, Vegeta was tied from front to back on the floor. Bulma's foot added pressure at the bottom of his spine. She tugged on the rope inside of his bound legs before kneeling to observe. Another rope was placed between his teeth. Bulma's pattern coiled like refined -- yet strong -- tendrils. She wanted it to be understated and beautiful, not just to satisfy Vegeta, but also herself as the dominant partner.

She sat cross-legged in front to watch him for a while. His ki hummed enough for her to feel it. He had surrendered control in this meditative state. She knew how good that felt. The pitfalls of one's ego were suspended. She hoped Vegeta could call on those feelings during the hardest times -- because those moments weren't going anywhere -- after departing from his semi-hypnosis. He was powerful and determined. Bulma knew that a _stable union_ of the warrior prince's physical and mental paths could be a juggernaut, but he needed to realize that for himself. But he still had a history. His actions couldn't be swept away like thin layers of dust. He fought to live and lived to fight. Casualties Bulma would likely never become aware of, both good and bad, would dwell within his soul for as long as he lived.  
  
Bulma's fingers massaged the crown of his head. Her stimulation induced a lengthy inhalation from Vegeta. She wouldn't rush him from this mental retreat, being exhausted herself. She leaned over further, seeing wet spots on the floor. Vegeta hadn't felt his tears consciously, but only in his heart. Her mind changed about bringing him out of this. He had experienced enough.   
  
She wiped his face with damp cloth. "Hey, listen to my voice, Vegeta. We're getting you out of this slowly. I'm not leaving, OK? I'm going to untie you."  
  
"I'm…tired."  
  
"I know you are," Bulma said soothingly. "We'll take care of that."  
  
After he finally got on his feet, Vegeta rejected her offer to help him walk, despite still being somewhat disoriented. He felt an unmatched release in bondage that eluded his conscious mind: a condition Bulma called "sub-space." His tears were a part of that. She decided not to tell him about the crying, though, unless he asked for the entire story from start to finish.  
  
"I can walk," he slurred. "Just let…let me sleep in our bed."  
  
 _Did he just say our bed?_ Bulma looked at him. _Yep, I need to get him there fast. He definitely should rest.  
_  
Vegeta shivered intensely soon after laying down -- almost to the point of someone with rigors. Bulma covered him with a blanket, recognizing the reaction. An overwhelming liberation of hormones post-bondage didn't happen to her as much anymore. Her body was acclimated. Vegeta had been through a lot, too. If he never wanted to do this ever again, she would understand.   
  
"Here, have some water," she said. "It's your first time, so you may sleep for a while."  
  
"OK, and…"  
  
"Shhh," Bulma scolded with a chuckle. "You don't get the last word, gorgeous."  
  
She couldn't have too much fun at his expense. Calling him gorgeous would have likely cost her something terrible if he weren't in this condition. He hated all nicknames, especially after a lifetime of Frieza calling him "monkey" and "pet," which Bulma didn't know. She would never hear the end his wrath over being given a cutesy sobriquet that could completely wreck his fearsome reputation.   
  
Fortunately, he fell asleep quickly.  
  
There was nothing left to consider or be done, she thought, especially with West City's midmorning sunlight demanding her attention. No doubt that this would be a stay-at-home workday. Vegeta had to be checked on later and eat.  
  
Her mind wandered as she guzzled a half-quart of sweet, refreshing orange juice. _He might not want to be touched, which is fine, or maybe he'll accept a massage?  
_  
For now, she had to consider how much food to order -- because there would be no cooking. 

* * *

  
Bulma forgot about needing rest, too, while focusing on Vegeta's condition. She capsulized their food smorgasbord after realizing that he would be knocked out asleep much longer. He likely wasn't sleeping well before, she speculated. She wasn't either, to be honest, but figured that catching up on a snooze later wouldn't be difficult. Reviewing what seemed to be endless video messages from work didn't last more than an hour before sleep's call demolished her courageous attempt at productivity.  
  
Almost two hours later, Vegeta emerged from her bedroom drying his hair after a steamy shower. His boxers also stuck to his ass uncomfortably. Bulma would laugh if she saw. He considered letting her sleep, as she did with him, after seeing her on the sofa. She wouldn't be upset if he left, he thought. His eyes were drawn to a note on the console table with an extensive menu -- and its cost. Bulma must have been more tired than she realized, because she never left receipts of her purchases anywhere. She was rich. Having a nice car or two was fine, but leaving signs of her wealth everywhere was the height of tackiness, she believed. Vegeta liked that about her, despite his own pride in being a royal.  
  
He also learned about Earth's monetary system soon after moving in with the Briefs. Knowing how much wealth it took for one to be kidnapped, threatened, murdered or stolen from would always factor into his decision making. Some planets didn't use money. Those that did were often more violent.   
  
Bulma could afford to buy a million brunch dishes a million times over, but what she did from the beginning of their night together until its end brought up strong emotions. This time he knew exactly what they were. Leaving a deeply meditative bondage session could do that. His silent observance nudged Bulma awake as he knelt beside her.

She yawned, stretching her arms and legs, and then smiled. "Leaving? I'm really tired, so take the food capsule over there home with you. We can talk later."  
  
"Do you want me to leave?" Vegeta asked quietly.  
  
Bulma rose, pulling her blanket closer. "You don't owe me anything for last night. That's not how this works. We both had roles to play."  
  
"Woman, I'm intelligent enough to know the difference between gratitude over having a machine built to train in versus what we did together -- and what _you did_ for me. I can be very selfish when I believe that I have been denied something, as you well know. In this case, just… let me say thank you, Bulma."  
  
"So does that mean you'll thank me profusely each time I rebuild and replace bot shooters?"  
  
"No way," Vegeta said with unapologetic arrogance. "You don't do the rebuilding anyway."  
  
Bulma's eyes narrowed. "Then put some real clothes on, and get the hell out out of my penthouse."  
  
Vegeta touched her face, kissing her temples and forehead. Bulma felt too overwhelmed to respond as his warmth and honesty radiated through her. Their time together had been emotional for her as well, and he just supported her feelings. She nodded, clutching his fingers as she held back tears.  
  
"I'm still an ass and will continue to be as I see fit," he proclaimed. "I may have to be more of one now publicly, so prepare yourself. This sentimental _affection_ changes nothing."  
  
"You have permission to continue pissing off everyone who knows me, Vegeta, though I could easily take your tech toys away." Her hands waved in the bedroom's direction. "Now shoo. You're making a nuisance of yourself, and I have work to finish. You also still have time to train."  
  
"I suppose. Much of the day has passed."  
  
"And just what does _that_ mean?" she replied with confusion. "That's never stopped you before, and it's not that late in the day. Do you just want to eat here instead?"  
  
After all of this, Vegeta was unready to leave. He should have been gone, really. Meanwhile, Bulma bounced across the room looking for items she needed. Her silk robe, decorated with grey and white patterns, flowed like cloudy bundles of cottonwood seeds.  
  
Vegeta departed to finish dressing before "yes" could fall from his mouth. Bulma tried not to laugh after he disappeared. His knack for making simple situations more difficult rarely ceased to amuse. Oddly enough, Vegeta felt the same about her -- or maybe it wasn't so odd.  
  
"Where the hell is my design book?" Bulma moaned as if she didn't have at least fifteen similar ones stored all over the place. "Vegeta, can you check under the bed for my sketchbook?"  
  
"I am not your servant!" he shouted.   
  
"I didn't say you were, you ass! And you have some nerve saying that to me!"   
  
She charged like a wild horse to the bedroom knowing that he would have the book. Vegeta pitched it over his shoulder. She was an expert catcher.  
  
"That it?" he asked sarcastically. "Shall I make pencils for you?"  
  
"It's taking you way too long to dress."  
  
"Well, I would be if you hadn't hidden my fucking shoes, woman."  
  
"I didn't hide your fucking shoes, Vegeta."  
  
Bulma thought about her parents and how those two bickered. A mini panic attack ensued. Then she felt relieved. Vegeta was incapable of noticing that they also sounded like a married couple. What would a peripatetic former galactic fighter and prince with a bad attitude know about that anyway?  
  
"You're not helping me either," he complained.  
  
Bulma impatiently pushed him aside, grumbling to herself. "You should know where everything is by now."  
  
How she could trip over his bare feet as he tried not to block her would be a story for the history books. Even he didn't think she would fall, but she did.  
  
"Oww! Why didn't you catch me?!"  
  
She didn't appear to be injured, Vegeta thought, so he helped her up. "I didn't think you were this graceless outside of the lab too."

After a short sigh, Bulma patted his chest, staring at his toes. She finally admitted to herself that she was in love with this man -- very much. No ceremony or discussion was necessary, because he was also destined to leave her. People couldn't lose things that were never intended for them in the first place.  
  
"What?" Vegeta asked, holding her wrist. "Why do you look like that?"  
  
"I'm all right," she replied. "Your shoes are in that drawer rack cabinet. But before you go, I want to discuss some unfinished business."  
  
Vegeta's arms folded over his chest. "Such as?"  
  
Bulma untied her robe, allowing the elegant fabric to slide off both shoulders. "I suspect you probably would have decided not to do the bondage had I agreed to this earlier. But since you trusted me while you walked out on a ledge, I'll do the same."  
  
Recalling her earlier comments, Vegeta followed as she unlocked her special cabinet. He wanted to close it but also didn’t want to hurt her. "As you said, this isn't how this works," he insisted. "You owe me nothing."   
  
"I know that." Bulma faced him, dropping her robe. "I owe it to myself. Just catch me, because it's going to be a wild ride."  
  
She took a huge whiff of the spicy powder in her hand -- with a wink and a smile. 

* * *

**A/N:** Sometimes I imagine that Bulma and Vegeta were much more chill behind closed doors after settling down together, especially while raising young Trunks. (They certainly are now in DB Super.) Maybe they argued and carried on in public to throw everyone off. Maybe it was pre-sex role playing. 😉   
  
Comments? Also, I made some fixes. Thanks for understanding.  
  



	13. Little Orgasms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From last chapter: The lovers are winding down from their bondage session, which revealed more about themselves, both spoken and unspoken. Bulma finally throws caution to the wind by unveiling her secret to Vegeta.

"Oh, oh, I'm about…about to sneeze! Etch choo!"  
  
Vegeta's lifespan had been a cinema of dour stares, cocky smirks, menacing laughter, and don't-fuck-with-me glares. He was short, flanked by two big dudes whose natural power didn't hold a candle to his. He worked the hardest of the three Saiyans by design, obviously. Most so-called surprises often didn't surprise him, except for going one-on-one against Goku that first time. If a situation actually did surprise him, his mouth usually stayed shut. Why give enemies a strategic advantage?   
  
But Bulma was no enemy, and wonder covered every razor-sharp inch of Vegeta's face. But he also didn't have much time to gawk. Her aphrodisiac took on a life of its own, rocking her beautifully nude body with unruly sneezing. Her nose's pink hue increased between each breath.  
  
 _Now it makes sense -- that day in the shower! She sneezed so much. Then she tried to tear me apart when we had sex. What in the world is this substance?  
  
_ Actually, they tried to tear _each other_ apart -- and he loved every minute. Bulma's sneezing stopped before the sex got hot and heavy that day, but she remained giddy and flushed the entire time. She also slept like a hibernating bear afterward, but Vegeta refused to give the powder credit for that outcome.  
  
All of this crossed his mind in less than 20 seconds.  
  
"I'm gonna… sneeze again…" _  
_  
Meanwhile, Bulma had found a pink cotton handkerchief, which appeared out of nowhere. She was laughing too, evidently at Vegeta's noiseless observation, between her nasal explosions. He wondered what the purpose was of having this soon-to-be tattered piece of cloth plastered across her face. The force of her sneezing would likely tear the thing apart.  
  
Bulma seemed to hold her breath a few times, stifling and muffling her eruptions. Her face and neck changed shades as she panted, and her tits bounced every time a new spasm began. Vegeta didn't know how to respond, but the scene didn't exactly repel him either. Bulma had many eccentricities he found interesting. He only wondered how this one developed. Who brought this to her attention? He was thinking way too hard, of course, but that was who he was.  
 _  
_His mind wandered over to Launch. _Clearly Yamcha couldn't be involved with this._ _Of course it was her. That woman barely has enough interest in wearing clothing for more than 15 minutes daily._  
  
Not that he found this attribute particularly repulsive. He didn't care about Launch's tastes or idiosyncrasies. He just disliked her.  
  
Bulma finally found an exceptional way to shut Vegeta up without protest. He just allowed this tiny nymph of a woman to chain and flog him, and then tie him up like an expensive birthday present. Now he appeared undeniably rapt. She bent over to blow her nose, sniffling feverishly. She also tried to soften her laughter, though the huge whiff she took of the powder packed a euphoric wallop. There was no question that she would be floating like a hot-air balloon in short order. Catching Vegeta off guard _like this_ was more enjoyable than she expected. He didn't appear disgusted, which was encouraging. Her nakedness and shuddering more than helped, she figured, but it also felt liberating to do this with him.   
  
His visible curiosity made him appear even more attractive. Soon enough she'd want to scream his name in bed -- or wherever they chose for the next sexual escapade. She wanted her moans to crack walls. She wanted him to be aroused and pleasure her in this uninhibited state. She wanted him to be in control. Was that too much to ask?   
  
"Be careful what you ask for," a sweet little voice lurking within her said.  
  
"Etch, ah, etch choo! Vegeta, are you…snnetchoo!!! Are you…you all right?"  
  
Vegeta noticed that her mouth opened wider with each sneeze. Her gasping was something fierce when her chin unfolded. Her head fell back, scattering hair everywhere.  
  
Her appearance was, in two words, delectably orgasmic.   
  
He didn't respond to her question either. Considering what could happen next interested him more. He wouldn't let Bulma hurt herself -- however ridiculous that thought sounded at first -- but her apparent arousal sparkled, quickly making him a fascinated voyeur. He was an observer by nature. Why not see where this goes? Maybe he wouldn't touch her again for the rest of their time together.  
  
 _Well, that last part might be asking too much,_ he joked to himself. _I'll take that on another time._  
  
Bulma grabbed her robe before wandering out of the bedroom. More sneezes emerged every time her face left the handkerchief's protective cover. Vegeta followed, appearing quite calm. Her head bobbed as she faced him. She was feeling quite sublime right now, and his presence whetted her appetite like the finest chocolate.  
  
"I asked if…if… you were… eh ah…" Bulma's eyes closed as she gasped into her next salvo. "Oh god, these sneezes are so strong!"  
  
"I'm fine," he answered, raising an eyebrow. "The question is, are you?"  
  
Bulma pushed her disorderly hair aside. Vegeta's pupils dilated, along with hers, as he approached. His left hand eagerly brushed over his thick, moistened lips. Bulma's eyelids slowly dropped as she laid on the plush, comfortable rug beneath the living room's skylight. Her silk robe fell wide open again. Vegeta watched her soft yet muscular legs spread apart, welcoming him into her lair. She sniffled between more laughing, extending her hand. Vegeta knelt beside her, expressionless. He already knew what he would and wouldn't do with her in this hyper-aroused condition. She unquestionably wanted him to send her sky-higher than she already was. How much he chose to was up for debate.  
  
Bulma's eyelids fluttered as his fingers swept nimbly across her curved abdomen. Her lipstick remained perfectly in place, enhancing her aroused body's flushed glow. Vegeta straightened his shoulders before laying a hand on her cheek. He wanted to take her body to moon but decided to show restraint instead. He wanted to see her like this again. He wanted her to want him so bad, just like this, that she'd forget her own name once he delivered. A satisfied smirk crossed over his lips as she exhaled. For a person so accustomed to fighting, his flawless touch never failed to beguile her.  
  
Sensing another sneeze coming up, Bulma's head shifted away from him. She felt equal parts heady and dreamy. This is what she wanted. She gave him full consent from the moment she opened that box. She could feel unbridled sensual energy radiating from him. She also had enough of waiting.  
  
Vegeta's finger landed underneath her nose, attempting to stop the next explosion.  
  
Bulm sniffled, raising up. "What…are….you, ahhh… I'm OK. I'm OK. You don't have to do…do that. Etch choo!!!"  
  
"What am I waiting for?" he asked with amusement. His understated laugh was richly indecent. "Is that what you're trying to ask? Just amazing. Telling me what to do again, eh? Even when you're like this?"  
  
What a shock it was for Bulma to watch him press her nostrils together, blocking her next sneeze.  
  
"Be careful what you ask for," he said with a Cheshire cat's grin. He had no plans to vanish into thin air, though, unlike the fanciful feline in a children's storybook from long ago.

* * *

  
Bulma's eyes squeezed shut again as her lips parted. Vegeta's compression of her nostrils threw her into a fit of pleasurable, quick-firing stifles. The forced holdbacks made her sneeze more. Her legs spread farther apart as her head rocked. She tried to pull on Vegeta's clothing to move him closer, but he wouldn't budge. His other fingers, however, took set sail for another journey. Light touches made the fine hairs on Bulma's legs stand. He slowly released her nose, placing a new handkerchief in her hand. The decorative cloths were nearly ubiquitous throughout the penthouse, which he hadn't paid attention to before.  
  
 _Where the hell did all of these things come from? How could I have not noticed?_ On their face, these questions were absurd. He was no interior decorator for sure. _  
_  
Bulma sat up halfway, sneezing forcefully into the hankie until the spasms finally waned. Her neck swayed as she reclined on her elbows. Vegeta straddled over her body, staring into her drowsy blue eyes.  
  
"Interesting," he said, twirling her hair. "How do you _feel_ now?"  
  
"Splendid," Bulma breathed with wind-swept satisfaction. "Absolutely splendid, but I…I…need more."  
  
"Obviously, from the looks of you," Vegeta teased. He massaged her sensitive labia and clit, relishing their sticky wetness. "I have to admit, I do rather enjoy seeing you like this… watching your _little_ orgasms. A less secure man probably would be jealous of possibly not achieving the same result."  
  
He knew he was so full of shit -- "a less secure man" indeed.   
  
His vaginal penetration felt solid and sleek, sending Bulma's reverie further into a colorful blur. He knew exactly what he was doing, her blissful consciousness said. Her knees raised, allowing his fingers to continue their adventure. Her hand reached for his backside, which he promptly held down.  
  
"I can't let you do that yet," he said, licking his lips. "Oh no."   
  
Bulma inhaled hard as his fingers pressed harder on her clit. "Vegeta, please..."  
  
He leaned next to her ear, nipping the lobe. "I thought we knew each better. I prefer looking at you as much as I enjoy having your body all to myself. For now, observing satisfies me."  
  
Bulma was aware enough to understand how he was toying with her. He would pay dearly for his deliciously wicked impudence. He definitely wanted her, but there was no clear incentive for him to give up the goods just yet. Her behavior had been so impulsive and fun, but in that moment she had forgotten the credo the wily prince often reminded her to consider:

Never, ever forget with whom you're dealing.  
  
Vegeta would never be ordinary, and he lived each waking day for challenges. Doing the opposite of what Bulma wildly craved then was the highest peak of control. As the hungriest of temptation's devils, he chose to dominate in this way for now. Everything that just transpired kept him highly intrigued.  
  
"You bastard," she pouted. "You're such a bastard."  
  
Vegeta's lips hovered above hers to reinforce his point. "Oh please, woman. There's no reason to hurry, now is there?"  
  
Bulma's body bucked and shivered as his fingers spiraled inside of her. Her moaning was exquisite, like nothing Vegeta had ever heard since they began sleeping together -- and he had heard a lot. He inhaled the remnants of Bulma's perfume as her panting lured him in for a kiss. But that could wait too.  
  
His other expert hand decided to deliver an extra boost, since she had said "please." He massaged both dimples on Bulma's back, right above her ass, which set off nerve waves that all seemed to strike her nostrils. Her button nose flared like a petite carnation when a burst of softer sneezes and sniffling emerged. Her arm dropped, releasing another hankie Vegeta handed to her. Using his powers, he retrieved a stack from an end-table.  
  
"My, my," he mused aloud. "A potent aphrodisiac has brought the formidable Doctor Bulma Brief to _her knees._ You didn't bother to run tests on this substance?"  
  
"I'm lying on my back, dude," Bulma replied with defiant confidence. "You have eyeballs. Use them. No chemical tests. I took a leap of faith."  
  
Vegeta already knew she fantasized about having him use the "natural" sex enhancer, though he suspected it wouldn't work. His body chemistry was compatible with humans, but the differences were quite vast. Yet, even he acknowledged that she walked just as far out on a psychological limb by revealing this unique kink. He respected that. Thus, he wouldn't rule out the option for himself.  
  
But maybe he would request thise chemical tests anyway. She got the stuff from Launch. That alone made him wary.  
  
Toying with Bulma now was undoubtedly thrilling, but the erotic domination she sought could be played out in innumerable ways. Vegeta wanted her to engage directly with him before jumping headfirst again into the deep end of her fetish pool, as she did then. Spontaneity had its place, but planning and anticipation had theirs too, which the two lovers knew all too well. This truly was something unique.  
  
He draped Bulma's right arm over his shoulder to carry her. Her legs kicked up as they re-entered the bedroom. She giggled a bit before kissing his head. Chivalry had to be rewarded, or something like that. His hands cupped her pert breasts, making her smile wider. Despite his choice to hold back in other ways, absolutely he wouldn't give up the thrill of touching her now.  
  
So much had transpired over the past twenty-four hours. Being with her through all of these experiences unlocked his awareness from a high-security dungeon. Yet after being jailed for so long, some prisoners wandered back to captivity because, sadly, it felt safe. Fortunately, his exhilaration had its day in the sun with her and the stars at night.  
  
"You change your mind?" Bulma asked. "Your hair smells good too." Her hand waved, breezily conducting her mental orchestra's first opus. She had to perfect the musicians' harmonizing. He really needed to hear it the way she did. Maybe she would hum it. 

Vegeta pinched her nipples, smirking. "I'm surprised you can still smell anything after this."   
  
"Be nice, Vegeta. My sense of smell is just peachy."   
  
"Be nice? That's like trying to stop Earth's primitive dogs from peeing on trees. You might as well stop asking about changing my mind too. Besides, I believe we're had enough excitement. Someone might think you were kidnapped."  
  
Bulma touched his arm. "Did you really enjoy seeing all of me like this -- like you said?"  
  
"You enjoyed yourself," Vegeta replied. "That's… all that matters. I also wouldn't change _anything_."  
  
He re-tied her robe, patiently waiting for her daydreaming to settle into restful sleeping.  
  


* * *

  
"Darling, it's time for you to wake up and have some dinner."  
  
"Fuck my life." Bulma covered her face with her hands. Why was her mother at the penthouse?  
  
Then she sat straight up, frantic. Was her sex-toy closet locked? Was the dungeon door hidden? Where the hell was Vegeta? She pulled her robe tighter, almost cutting off circulation across her abdomen.  
  
The ceiling lights had been left dim. Relieved, she realized Vegeta had put everything back in place. The room almost looked like no one else had been there.  
  
Panchy pranced inside turning the lights all the way up. "I'm not going to repeat myself again, young lady. It's time to put some clothes on and get your ass out of that bed."  
  
Bulma furiously threw pillows at her. "Mom! Will you stop? Are you trying to destroy my eyesight? I'm a grown woman. I can sleep however long I want to!"   
  
Panchy's eyebrows knitted as she made a bee-line to the bed. "Not while I'm here. Why are your nose and eyes so pink and puffy? Are you catching another cold? Should I get you some tea?"  
  
Bulma sunk deep underneath her duvet, forming a physical buffer against her mother's intrusion. _That conniving jerk. After all we've done, this is how he repays me? He's a dead man walking.  
  
_ Vegeta purposely left her little box of magic on the nightstand, along with a large box of tissues. Had her mother not been there, she would have laughed.  
  
He certainly did -- more than he ever thought he could -- all because of her.  
  


* * *

**Deep or not-so-deep comments about this chapter (or others) are invited. 🙃 Please leave one if you can. Thank you.**   
  
  
  



	14. Bless You, My Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From last chapter: Bulma finally revealed what she kept hidden from Vegeta, who quickly became a fascinated and uncritical voyeur. Later, Panchy shakes Bulma out of what had been a peaceful afterglow.

"I'm feel fine, mom. I sent everyone who needed to know a message that I wouldn't be in the office today, including daddy."  
  
"Your sister and I aren't included that group, evidently. You seemed distracted at dinner last night -- and didn't stay long at all. I had such a lovely bottle of wine chosen for everyone too."  
  
"Maybe it's because I was distracted, mother. It's not something you or anyone else should worry about."  
  
Panchy sighed, sitting at the foot of the bed. "I haven't seen your bedroom this immaculate in a while. Vegeta is damn good organizer. You both still could have had dinner with us before running off."  
  
Bulma peeked over her duvet's ramparts. "Look, you stubborn old lady, I love you so very much, but this stops right now. Today -- not tomorrow or next week. I've had enough. If the behavior continues, don't expect to have many more conversations about anything in my life for quite some time. If I want to share anything else about Vegeta and me, I will. He has a right to privacy too."  
  
"I know, my darling," Panchy replied. "I know. My comments still stand about your involvement with him. I'm not judging. I can't say I'll ever be as brave as you. You've had the capacity to face frightening situations courageously since you were little -- in spite of legitimate fears."  
  
"Mom --"  
  
Panchy tugged on the duvet to quiet Bulma, though her thoughts were an emotional jumble. She recalled Vegeta's comments about her "trying too hard." Sometimes she envied her husband, who could deliver most opinions -- and get them through to Bulma quickly -- and then move on.  
  
"No, Bulma. Just hear me out a while longer. I'm so proud of you. You have stood your ground and stomped alongside every arrogant or clueless man who ever believed he was stronger or worldlier than you -- or just took your talents for granted. Sure, you had your bratty ways as a kid, but those guys owe you some gratitude. Some girls too. Do you understand what I'm saying?"  
  
Bulma, who suddenly felt like a teen again, wanted to burrow into her mother's comforting embrace. Panchy sensed this and responded in kind. At first Bulma couldn't answer. It seemed as if she had been crying so much over the past year about everything large and small. Yet, through it all, she kept working, learning, and opening herself. Now she was in love again -- but with a man who, as tremendously flawed as he was, saw the core of her. She was never a caricature to him, not even when they got on each other's last nerve -- or when their interactions had indeed been "transactional" to meet their individual goals.  
  
"Mom, you know, I try not to have regrets about much of things I've done -- though I have enough, since I'm human -- but I have to say getting older is fucking harder than I thought it would be. Facing death is a postscript."  
  
"Well, yes, Bulma," Panchy replied, laughing. "For someone as smart as you, the situation gets more complicated. You must have someone to love who can keep up…. _male_ or _female_."  
  
Bulma shrugged, tilting her head. "Yes, you're correct on the first part, though I haven't said anything about love. Regarding the latter, gender isn't the issue for me. I have no hang-ups about that. Maybe the right woman will come along instead and sweep me off of my feet."  
  
She wasn't being unserious. That could happen, since she was girding herself for life after Vegeta. Everything about them was unexpected. Loving someone didn't just end overnight. She would always cherish her good memories with Yamcha. When the prince of all Saiyans finally decided to walk away, she would be ready. The cut would run deep, but she had no appetite for drama or arguments on this subject.  
  
"All right, my little jelly bean," Panchy said. She squeezed Bulma's knee before kissing both cheeks. "I'll back off… for a while."  
  
"How gracious of you," Bulma wisecracked. "I guess I'll get that food now."  
  
Panchy clapped happily. "You just made me a very happy mom."  
  
"For about an hour," Bulma said. "Then you'll harass me again about something else. Let me put on some comfortable joggers before I make my debut in your temporary banquet hall."  
  
Both women turned toward the door after hearing a plate crash. Bulma's eyelids tightened with suspicion  
  
Panchy's hand clasped -- a telling sign of nervousness. "Sweetie, how could you expect me not to bring your sister with me?"  
  
"Argh," Bulma growled with frustration. "And what did you tell her, mom? I hope an unnecessary conversation about Vegeta was left out of it!"  
  
"Well, I…uh."  
  
Bulma palmed the side of her face. "Don't say anymore. You are an adult. I asked you not to drive me crazy anymore, and you basically agreed without saying it. What you jabber about in your free time is your own business. Just don't let it get back to me."  
  
Bulma's sister Tights flipped the door open with enough muscular force to shuffle her blond hair bangs. "Stop this nonsense and come out, you spoiled brat. I'm hungry too!"

"Then eat something, you miserable shrew," Bulma shot back. "I'm not stopping you from gorging yourself. Just stop breaking my damn plates!"  
  
Tights laughed as if their war of words was hers to claim. "You can buy more, baby sis. That is, unless dad is firing you from Capsule."  
  
"Hn." Bulma crossed her arms, determined not to back down. "I'm not the one living on a luxury planet playing scientist with ancient diatoms instead of…"  
  
Panchy's foot hit on the floor, stopping the verbal boxing match. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea to have these two together. Her daughters loved each other intensely, but Tights had been vexed over Bulma's tight-lipped responses every time she asked about Vegeta. Tights had been away doing research, with little contact for more than a year. All of a sudden this taciturn, borderline reclusive dude just showed up out of nowhere, living with her family. Obviously Bulma had a thing for this guy. Unfortunately, her sister sometimes had bad taste in men she found attractive. Yamcha still seemed like a nicer guy for Bulma over the long haul, according to what everyone said from afar, so Tights assumed this separation might pass. Then her sister could marry properly.  
  
"Girls, you're irritating my delicate eardrums," Panchy said daintily. "We're going to have a _nice_ dinner and discuss _nice_ things, got it?!!!"  
  
Tights and Bulma's eyes met. Stoking their mother's rage over another family meal wasn't worth the grief.  
  
"Yes, mother," they said with resignation.  
  
"Perfect! I love you, girls."  
  
Panchy was no dullard, so attempting to be evasive would have been foolish. Vegeta knew what she wanted soon after his arrival earlier at the carriage house. A pre-written message -- in cursive no less -- flashed onscreen in the living room when he entered.  
  
 _"Is she still at the penthouse?"  
  
_ "Yes," Vegeta said, shaking his head. "She's sleeping."  
  
And that was it.  
  
He didn't care about Panchy's awareness of his relationship with Bulma. He figured Bulma hadn't blabbed much -- or maybe nothing at all -- to the nosy woman. Watching them sometimes caused him to think about his mother. If she were alive, maybe she would've been three times as overbearing, nagging him to choose a "suitable" Saiyan mate. His father would have likely left that duty to her, had the queen not died after their second son was born.

Saiyan royals and noblemen were expected to have mates. Lower classes weren't required to as much, but families were conscripted to give up at least one child for service. Some women acted as surrogates, birthing children exclusively "for the cause." Others who couldn't attend to their offspring gave them up. These orphans would be cared for appropriately, and later be placed in roles fitting their capabilities.  
  
Vegeta didn't dwell long on these thoughts. He would've defended Saiyans' way of life if challenged too harshly, as he typically did about everything else, but he also acknowledged the culture's rigidity. Saiyan women were accomplished in every field imaginable, and yet had unfair roles placed upon them. Nappa rarely spoke of his late wife, who finally rebelled against his and their families' strict demands. Saiyans who died by suicide were judged by the reasoning behind the act. Her choice was deemed unworthy.  
  
Vegeta's father probably would've ordered him to be beaten senseless for showing too much affection to any "commoner," and the prince probably would have accepted the punishment willingly. Concubines were permitted. Loving them wasn't. Not mating with another Saiyan would have been sacrilege.  
  
But he was beholden to no one now. No one could judge him for breaking ties that didn't fit anymore.  
  
This journey was forcing him to grapple with the vast losses in his life, and the inerasable damage he left along the way. The bondage ropes Bulma loosened gave full voice to the good and bad -- the yin and yang. No matter where this life took him now, the prince would have a picture window into his soul.  
  
By the next morning Vegeta's euphoric endorphin rush had waned. He dragged himself from his bed, casting a bleary-eyed stare at the nightstand clock. He didn't grumble about awakening an hour earlier than normally because hard training would clear his head and suppress the melancholy he felt, perhaps. The fridge and freezer at the carriage house hadn't been replenished, which was entirely his fault. He could handle that later, but not having any fresh orange juice before entering the gravity room just wouldn't work, so he flew off to the main house like a ravenous fruit bat.  
  
Five hours later, at nine thirty, he took a break -- which led him back into bed, where he slept for four more hours. His appetite was minimal when he woke again. At first he wondered if he were ill, but that wasn't it. He grunted, throwing his blanket aside crossly.  
  
"This is silly. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, Vegeta."   
  
Bulma had to be working, he thought, and probably quite hard. Interrupting her to chat about nonspecific somatic symptoms after what they just did together was absurd. He pulled the blanket back over his legs, and then his head. A gentle chime hummed from the bedroom's video screen. This time the sheets got thrown all the way off.  
  
"Ugh!" he shouted. "That blasted woman crossed my mind for all of two seconds! That wasn't a psychic invitation to contact me!"  
  
He rubbed his eyes as the ringing ended. Soon after, he retrieved Bulma's video message. She had called from Capsule's environmental research center, located about seventy-five miles outside of East City in a bayside coastal area. Vegeta had visited the place before, curious about activities there. Bulma, who was wearing goggles, held a writhing lobster in her hands. No one else appeared to be in the lab. She wasn't looking directly at the screen but made sure to wave her free hand at the camera.  
  
"You don't have to ring me back immediately, Vegeta, but I had to check in. I hope your training was productive today. If it wasn't, don't beat yourself up over that -- especially if you crashed. We did a lot together. I'm still feeling a bit shaky myself. That's why I'm out here at the bay. It's really pretty now. Anyway… even it's just a text, just let me know you're doing."  
  
The screen went dark, which dimmed the entire bedroom. Vegeta opened the shades for more light, stretching his arms overhead.  
  
"Speaker, send this message to Dr. Brief."  
  
 _"Go ahead, sir."_  
  
"You broke my train of thought, woman."  
  
 _"Is that all, sir?"_  
  
"No." Vegeta held his breath, closing his eyes. "Speaker, add a frowning emoji to that text then send it."  
  
Bulma's quick reply had a purple-haired emoji sporting its own scowl. "Jackass."   
  
Vegeta visualized her untamed laughter. She had given him the strength to finish the day.   


* * *

**EPILOGUE: AGE 781**  
  
"Mom! Mom!!!"  
  
Having another baby either makes one less tolerant of excessive noise or beats the soul into resigned acceptance. Vegeta and Bulma's infant daughter Bulla was almost a year old, which was delightful. That said, everything about their little princess seemed to be high volume and running at high-octane speed. Their son Trunks didn't have much sympathy either. The fifteen-year-old had no problem reminding his cranky father particularly whose bright idea it was to create another baby Saiyan royal.  
  
Vegeta would never forgive his wife for tattling on him.  
  
"Knock it off, Trunks!"

"But dad!"  
  
"By - the - gods! Another word out of you, Trunks Brief, and I'll -- "  
  
Trunks dropped his chin. "Fine."   
  
Vegeta rested wearily on the kitchen's door frame, lowering his voice. "I don't see you hemorrhaging blood anywhere, boy, so I can't see much reason for yelling."  
  
 _Give me a break,_ Trunks thought, folding his arms. _I could compose an opera from dad's less-than-patient shouting sonatas.  
  
_ Bulma walked by her husband at a snail's pace, followed by a speedy little one who was eager to join the fun. Vegeta picked Bulla up, pressing his fingertip on her lips. The baby giggled, touching her father's chin. Vegeta hadn't shaved, so his stubble had become a new and interesting plaything for the child.   
  
Bulma smiled with pride at her little mansion of horrors. She also needed a caffeinated beverage before keeling over. The coffee press was almost within reach, and then a breeze glided over her arm.   
  
"Should you be making that?" Trunks asked, holding the steel beaker. "You haven't had any coffee in a really, really long time. Perhaps it's time to struggle with your addiction, now that you're older."   
  
Vegeta shook his head, wondering how his extremely intelligent son could be so distressingly stupid. He looked at Bulla, who was undoubtedly paying attention to her mother's body language.   
  
"Watch and learn," he whispered. "Your brother seems to have lost vital brain cells since his growth spurt. I don't think that will happen with you."  
  
Bulma cleared her throat. "My…my what? Now that I'm older?! _Now that I’m_ _older_?!"  
  
"Wait!" Trunks held up his hands, backing away. "Wait. That didn't come out the right way, mom."  
  
"So why don't you stop there?" Vegeta chimed in.  
  
Trunks knew he was cornered.  
  
"Give me that!" Bulma snapped, grabbing the coffee press. "Addiction, this arrogant pup says! How do you think I got through _years_ of working all hours, dealing with your father, and raising you?!"  
  
Vegeta frowned. "Hey, leave me out of this. I would never bring up your age."  
  
Bulma pointed the beaker at him like a rifle. "You keep quiet! He's your son!"  
  
"I did not _make him_ by myself," Vegeta retorted with a smirk. "Trunks, do you still need something from your mother now?"  
  
Bulma turned away, blushing.  
  
"Uh, no," Trunks said, sounding defeated. "I think I can figure it out on my own."  
  
Bulma shook off her bruised ego to gently ruffle his hair. "I've been around for a long time, as you inelegantly stated. Dear, if you're worried about my breastfeeding, there's more than enough milk stored to feed Bulla. A few cups of coffee won't destroy me. Now what can I do for you?"  
  
Trunks' eyes brightened. "Goten and I wanted to bring a couple of birds from 17's nature sanctuary to the Capsule's environmental center for patching up. We've been taking care of them. One of the techs says he's willing to try a new surgical procedure. He won't unless you give permission and let us watch."  
  
That was Vegeta's sign to leave. Bulla's diaper had to be changed before he set about searching for his soon-to-be-crying wife. Now that Trunks revealed plans to do something thoughtful, Bulma would likely feel guilty about snapping at him. She had been more emotional lately. He didn't press her about it. Her reactions didn't make him feel uncomfortable either. He owed her his life, many times over.  
  
Bulla cooed as he finished wrapping the diaper. She wouldn't need to wear one much longer, he thought. Her cognitive and physical development was moving along well.  
  
"Pa-pa! Pa-pa!"  
  
Vegeta smiled. "I'm right here, princess. No need to screech."  
  
"Scrrr… eeech!!!"  
  
Vegeta winced as Bulla clutched his fingers. "Your brother is right. I only brought this on myself. Don't worry, though. I have no regrets whatsoever."  
  
"That's good to know," Bulma said, hugging him from behind. They kissed quickly before leaving Bulla's room. Vegeta took her coffee cup to finish the rest.  
  
"You OK?"  
  
"Yeah. We've just had a lot of upheaval these past two years, Vegeta. I'm still working through it all."  
  
"I can postpone my training sabbatical with Whis and Kakarot by another two months."  
  
"I'd rather have you go than wait until after the baby's first birthday."  
  
Vegeta shrugged. "Whatever you want. I'm not pressed one way or the other. I will be here for Bulla's birthday regardless."  
  
Bulma's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "It almost sounds like you want _another_ one of those voracious creatures to pop out of my body. No fucking way, Vegeta. I know you secretly wanted one with a tail --"  
  
Vegeta kissed her once more -- and then flung her over his shoulder. "Wow. A tail? I never thought about that, actually. Great idea. Let's try again!"  
  
"Nooooooo!" Bulma laughed hysterically as she beat on his back. "Release me, you lunatic! A great idea? Bullshit!"  
  
Feeling more emboldened, Vegeta put her down and tapped her nose. "Hmm. How about a little excitement tonight after you're done at the office?"  
  
Bulma stepped back, staring at her chest. "Listen, I do not _want_ another child. I mean, look at me. I might need a breast lift soon after my melons deflate from breastfeeding."  
  
"And look at me! I still can't wash this wretched baby powder out of my hair. You think Kakarot did _anything_ like this when Gohan was born?"  
  
"He didn't." Bulma shook with laughter recalling the memory. "Chi Chi told me Goku almost fainted after Gohan had his first hard bowel movement."  
  
Vegeta touched his chest. "I am shocked. Shocked, I say."  
  
"I'm sure you are, and I like your baby powder odor. It's unusually refreshing."  
  
Vegeta paused, caressing her cheek. "Woman, you're as beautiful as the first day I laid eyes on you -- and even more so now -- and you always will be."  
  
Bulma did a double take. Did someone just thwack her husband on the head? _As the first day he laid eyes on me? Always will be?_ Where did this romantic gust of wind come from?

Vegeta fidgeted, wondering whether she took him at his word. He had never lied to her, even when telling the truth felt painful for them both.

Bulma winked, fingering his chin hairs. "You feeling all right?"  
  
Vegeta's eyes rolled as they kissed. "Yeah."  
  
"Don't shave. Your stubble is just bristly enough to keep me interested."  
  
"Only my stubble?" Vegeta asked sarcastically. "And here I thought you married me for my pleasant personality."  
  
Bulma wrapped a towel around herself, beckoning him to shower with her. "We’ll have dinner at Bert and Millie's and stay at the penthouse tonight. I'll ask Tights to keep Bulla for us. Trunks can spend the night at Gohan and Videl's home with Goten. Deal?"  
  
Vegeta nodded. "Deal. Any specific requests? Toys, oils, shackles, ties, hot wax?" His wife returned his grin with a bewitching one of her own.  
  
"Oh, I think you know what we're doing tonight," Bulma said seductively, " _especially_ after that nose tap you gave me earlier. Let's improvise too."  
  
Vegeta rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm. "Did that overpaid hospitality consultant of yours find a new manager for the restaurant yet? Since Bert and Millie died --"  
  
"I know," Bulma replied. "The place has been through a lot of changes. I miss them too. I wish they could see our daughter. I know we haven't visited in a long time for fun and games, but I'm not selling it."  
  
"I…would never ask you to."  
  
Bulma touched his shoulder. "I love you."  
  
Vegeta's head bowed as he reflected on his wife's compassion. He knew how much Bulma loved him. She didn't have to say it, really, but hearing it comforted his innermost soul.  
  
He ended his training day early after deciding that he and Bulma would rendezvous elsewhere that evening. Now was the perfect time to reveal his long-planned post-baby surprise. He had a cave converted into a spacious luxury dwelling in a towering rock promontory along the coast. Shocked and moved by his thoughtfulness, Bulma sobbed for ten minutes after they arrived.  
  
"Oh, don't look so concerned," she said, sniffling. "It's hormones."  
  
Vegeta bent down to stoke wood in the fireplace. "So if your hormones were balanced, you wouldn't like your gift as much?"  
  
Bulma crinkled her eyes and nose. "Will you stop? It's magnificent."  
  
"It should be. Cost enough, despite not telling the designers that it would be ours."  
 _  
_Bulma's heart skipped a bit. "Shit, Vegeta. _Please_ don't tell me you did anything illegal. The last thing I need is to be arrested for money laundering or extortion."  
  
"Who in the hell would dare to arrest you? That would be instant death."  
  
Bulma thumped the back of his head. "That's not the point, you fool! Answer my question."  
  
Vegeta pulled her to the floor onto a mound of red and white pillows. "Mmm. Why must you be so provocative? Go change your clothes for me."  
  
Bulma wagged her finger at him. "What's the magic word?"  
  
"No kids."  
  
"I guess I'll accept that."  
  
Bulma cupped his face, rewarding him with a soft and graceful kiss. Vegeta found himself wanting far more than this sensual prologue, so he indulged, savoring the closeness of their breaths and bond with each other. The crackling fire's hazy glow urged them on, infusing its warmth through their bodies.  
  
"I don't know if I want to stop yet, Doctor Brief. Skip the clothes."  
  
Bulma punched his arm. "Nah. Get off of me. You change too. Actually, just remove the shirt for now."  
  
"Fine." Vegeta helped her up, approaching the window overlooking the bay. A single catamaran was making its way back to shore as the golden autumn sun's descent ended. The prince looked forward to seeing the stars, which had new meaning for him.  
  
Bulma returned in a white lace gown. Her unpinned hair fell over her shoulders with rebellious independence, matching her personality. Subdued lip gloss and eye shadow accentuated her face's finer features.  
  
"Happy, papa prince?"  
  
Vegeta turned around. "I guess I'll accept that."  
  
Bulma bit the side of her lip. "So who starts first?"  
  
"Let's play Rock-Paper-Scissors to decide."  
  
Bulma dropped a pillow on their feet, setting an amethyst-colored box on top. "You're _going_ to lose."  
  
" _Hn_. Stop stalling, vulgar woman. _Victory is mine._ This will be our only round."  
  
Vegeta played scissors. Bulma, who played rock, pumped her fists in the air.  
  
"Woo! I won! Who's got the victory now, _Saiyan_?"  
  
Without saying a word, Vegeta kneeled upright at Bulma's feet, handing her the box. He inhaled a strong whiff of her vanilla perfume, because it was likely the last smell he'd recall for the rest of the evening.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Maybe we should wait," Bulma said with just enough mirth to make Vegeta leery. "I think you owe Launch a huge thank you _first_ for helping us conceive our daughter, using her gift."  
  
Vegeta refused to dignify her taunt with a response. Besides, he grudgingly agreed -- but would never say so unless Bulma forced him.  
  
"You bought her flower nursery," he replied. "I think she knows."  
  
Bulma grasped a tuft of his hair, tipping his nose upward. Her pinky finger scooped the Sternuta in the box, which sprinkled on Vegeta's stubble like fine flour. His nose wriggled.  
  
"Close your eyes, and breathe…in…" Bulma purred, drizzling the powder into his nostrils. "Try to hold them back this time. Stay on your knees until I tell you to move. Open your eyes now."  
  
Vegeta had done this before. It was Bulma's favorite command, because stifles were the hardest for him to fulfill. The first few times he tried it, while in restraints, nearly blew his head off. Turned out he was even more sensitive to the aphrodisiac's effects. Bulma could do whatever she wanted -- and by god, she did.  
  
She tickled the tip of his nose, drawing rock-solid glare from him. Vegeta stood his ground, though his eyes were filling with tears. His lips folded as his chin shifted. _I'll be damned if this conniving woman gets me this time. I am no weakling!  
  
_ Bulma's power play was to get his mouth open. The more aroused he became, the less likely he could hold back his sneezes. She couldn't overdo the stimulation. Watching him resist was part of the fun, and she _always_ won.  
  
"Come on, strong guy," she whispered beside him. Her teeth nicked the side of his ear. "Wanna go all-blue god on me today? Nah. You know I love to see you in red. Unleash some of that… power."   
  
Vegeta's lips pursed as she laughed softly. Her featherlike strokes on his nipples graduated to warm kisses on them, followed by lapping. His nose reddened as heavy sniffling took hold. He steadied his breathing, reducing the speed. Bulma could tell he felt giddy, glancing at his eyes, but his passive expression didn't fracture. Maybe she wouldn't drag this out. He looked so tasty, and it had been so long since they had done this together.  
  
Her hands slid down both sides of his roomy white-linen pants, holding his hips. Vegeta's eyes shut as the first stifles commenced. Little grunts puffed repeatedly as his head trailed farther back. The second he looked down would mean a crushing defeat, and it appeared that his wife's voyeuristic patience was running out sooner than expected. He wanted her to wear him out tonight, but not yet.  
  
Bulma's fingertips touched his length's sensitive foreskin. His dick's enlargement was immediate, sending a shiver through them both. Vegeta's fingers spread as he tried to push down the stifles. Bulma couldn't take it anymore, pinching hard on the nub where his tail once was.  
  
Game over.  
  
Vegeta wheezed as his mouth flew open. "You…you… cheated, essh!!! Damn you -- ESHH-choo!!! "  
  
Bulma covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, honey! I know I wasn't supposed to do that, but it was just…just there! It's so cute poking out there like that."  
  
Vegeta wanted to howl. The severing of his tail was nowhere near "cute." Who was this savage vixen? Some lines of proper conduct had to be established. But he couldn't tame his vigorous sneezing to roar them at her. Bulma shot up like a rocket, backing away as he lunged forward. The early stage of his buzz was going well, she observed through her laughter.  
  
"Cute?!" he gasped. "Oh… I'll… _show you cute_ , when I... I…get… Heh-ethchoo! ShNNST!"  
  
Bulma threw handkerchiefs at him. "Bless you, my prince!"  
  
Vegeta caught all three, covering his entire face. His wife returned to the floor, hoping for a pause to pounce on him. She got her wish as Vegeta's arm fell aside, revealing his sniffling nose. Tears covered his cheeks. Bulma's hands rolled over his dense shoulders, laying him supine on the pillows. He held her waist as their lips joined, tongues pushing over each other greedily. After placing her breast in his mouth, Bulma began a slow, rounded body grind on top of him. Vegeta sucked and licked her nipple, following her movement.  
  
His chin stubble tickled, which Bulma loved. Her teeth clamped down on his neck like a jaguar, kindling a soothing visual haze of purple and red hues. Vegeta growled and moaned from the high. He rubbed his cheeks on hers, panting heavily.  
  
"I think you need this more than I do," she said, returning for another juicy kiss. "Maybe I'll start calling it Saiyan catnip."  
  
"Liar," Vegeta grunted hoarsely. "This is _all_ for your benefit. I'm barely… barely holding on here."  
  
"Stop whining," Bulma said, shaking the powder box. "It's too early for you to give out on me. It appears I gave you too little of this, given your soberness, but it's up to you. I'll be gracious. More?"  
  
"Getting high and staying sober are two different things," Vegeta sniffed as she removed his pants.  
  
Bulma propped up his legs, placing her elbow on one. "You sound like a bad fortune-cookie writer. So that's a yes."  
  
Vegeta closed his eyes, tilting his nose as Bulma dribbled a longer stream in each nostril, sealing his complete submission to her desires. Soft moonlight that had been hidden behind clouds emerged as he inhaled. The urge to masturbate felt overwhelming as he tried to hold back the sneezes. Bulma's palm held the top of his cock, sliding down to the shaft. Her mouth watered as she imagined sucking it.  
  
"Look… at me, Vegeta."  
  
He shook his head, keeping his eyes shut as Bulma's hand smoothly glided between both poles of his manhood. Her forefinger pressed up on his nose, detonating the dynamite. Vegeta's breaths huffed as his body juddered. He rolled onto his side, with Bulma continuing to stroke him from behind, increasing his sneezing's forcefulness.   
  
"ESHH! ESHH! ESHH! ESHH!"  
  
Bulma moved on top, riding his erect dick throughout his long, uncompromising fits -- and after they ended. Vegeta could hold his large erection for quite a while, even with the enhanced stimulation. He looked up, sensing Bulma's forthcoming orgasm as her legs hugged closer. He guided her over the top with adroit finger strokes on her clit. Pleased with her happiness and contentment, he took her hand.  
  
Bulma collapsed onto his chest. "Maybe we _will_ _have_ another baby."  
  
"I thought we agreed that the ship has sailed," Vegeta replied, retrieving another handkerchief, "but…"  
  
Not expecting his sudden burst of energy, Bulma hollered when Vegeta flipped her beneath him. Wild eyes challenged her as his cock bored down inside of her. Bulma's fists clenched, thrashing the pillows while he dusted her nose. Breaths drew inward as competing sensations melded. She sneezed as her body accepted his rocking upward thrusts, increasing in speed until they both orgasmed. Vegeta loved seeing her eyes relax as the euphoria he still felt absorbed her. They thanked each other through loving, unhurried kisses, relishing the warmth of being accepted for who they were.

* * *

**Three months later......**

  
Bulma watched her husband's acrobatics from the gravity room's observation deck, monitoring the timing. She put on a straight face, which probably wasn't the best idea, as Vegeta flew toward her.  
  
"You've been here a while," he said cautiously. "What is it?"  
  
Bulma took a deep breath, touching her stomach. "Honey, I have something to tell you. Maybe you should sit down."  
  
Vegeta blinked.  
  
She winked.  
  
The color drained from his face.  
  
"Sit down? Sit down?! What _do you mean_ sit down?!!! You _can't_ be serious, woman! That's it! We're never using that devil dust again in bed! Can we at least _conquer_ another planet in this universe before adding any more Saiyans we create on this one?!!!"  
  
Bulma blew on her freshly manicured nails with the nonchalance of an aristocratic duchess. "Whatever, Vegeta. Menopause will be around the corner for me after our next brat shows up. Birth control failed, I suppose. _Maybe you should have worn your armor_."  
  
Trunks raced inside of the gravity room waving his arms. "Mom, did I hear you say 'next brat'? What is it with you and dad and making babies all of a sudden?! You're like jackrabbits!"  
  
Vegeta, who had now transformed to a Super Saiyan, raised a warning finger at their son. "You have your whole life ahead of you, boy -- if you want to keep it!"  
  
Trunks stomped indignantly around his father. "Oh come on! I'll be changing diapers until I'm thirty!"  
  
"Boys! Boys!"  
  
"What?!!!" Vegeta and Trunks yelled, staring at her.  
  
Bulma smiled, pointing her fingers like a gunslinger. "Gotcha."  
  
The joke was on them. Father and son exchanged glances, realizing that they had been punked.  
  
"Trunks?"  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"I'll take the front. You get the back. She's gonna pay."  
  
Bulma's eyes widened with dread. "Crap baskets."  
  


* * *

**Thank you for reading, following, commenting, and leaving kudos! I kept this going because of you all. Although we've reached the end, your questions and comments are still welcome. (Also, thanks for tolerating my nod to Team Four Star. 😄)  
**


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